


Defector

by Blue_Immortal_2183



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Betrayal, F/F, Intrigue, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:53:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Immortal_2183/pseuds/Blue_Immortal_2183
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard receives an assignment from Admiral Hackett requesting her to track down a defector who is supplying top-secret Alliance intel to the Asari Republics. She must find out why such a perplexing event is taking place, and must apprehend the informant for questioning. Unfortunately, she first has to find out who they are...<br/>Set during the latter third of Mass Effect 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Ah, Commander Shepard. Good to see you. I gather you received my message?” The grizzled voice of Admiral Steven Hackett emanated from his holographic likeness.

“I did, sir,” Shepard began, saluting her commanding officer, “but, with all due respect, Admiral, you didn't elaborate upon exactly what you wanted me to do.”

“I needed to make sure we were communicating on a secure line, commander. This development is... unexpected.”

It had only been a couple of minutes since Commander Shepard had been sent an urgent communiqué from Admiral Hackett. While such messages would normally supply the commander with at least rudimentary objectives, this one was surprisingly scant on such details – something which had at once made her uneasy. She had made her way to the comm deck immediately thereafter.

“What's going on, Admiral?” Shepard inquired.

“We've received word that we may have a defector on our hands.” Hackett replied, looking even more grim than usual.

“You mean someone working for the Reapers?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

Sighing heavily, the admiral looked uncharacteristically at a loss. This only worried Shepard even more. Whatever was going on, it was _big_.

“Then who are they working for?” Shepard asked, confused and concerned.

“We have reason to believe that there is currently an ex-Alliance member who is now leaking important information to the Asari Republics.”

This news surprised the commander greatly. After all, this was a time when every species was supposed to be banding together – why would there be someone defecting to an allied force?

Evidently, Shepard's surprise had sufficiently decorated her face, for Hackett immediately continued, “I know. It shocked the hell out of us, too. It seems strange – to say the least – that someone can indulge in treachery at a time like this.”

“But, sir, the asari are an allied species. Why would someone defect to one of our allies? That doesn't seem to make sense.”

“Backroom deals go on all the time, commander,” Hackett started in his signature pessimistic tone. “It's nothing new. What's strange about this one is the timing. And that's part of what I need you to figure out: why the defector is doing what they're doing. Needless to say, I also need you to stop them. I need them alive, if at all possible.”

“I understand, sir,” Shepard nodded with resolve. “Who am I tracking down?”

“Well,” Hackett sighed again, “That's just it. We don't know yet.”

Caught off-guard once again, a surprised Shepard merely asked, “What?”

“Our sources haven't been able to verify precisely who it is that's supplying the intel. That's where you come in. I need you to figure out who the informant is, find out their reasons for defecting, then bring them back for questioning.”

Shepard was entirely speechless by this point. After all, where would she even begin without a lead?

“With all due respect, sir,” Shepard began, struggling somewhat to take in the developing situation, “How exactly am I to do that if I don't even know where to start looking?”

“We expect that the defector has some high-ranking access to the inner workings of Alliance politics. There's no other way they could have access to this sort of Alliance intel. We're talking _serious_ stuff here, commander – secrets that could get the guilty party court-martialled and executed.”

“So, do you have any conclusive leads, sir?” Normally, the commander wouldn't feel compelled to press Admiral Hackett on an issue – but then again, she'd normally have learned more about her objective by this point.

“Nothing is certain at this point,” Hackett began, “but I would say the Citadel would be a good place to start. It's entirely possible that some form of lead has bled down into the situation there somehow. You know how the Citadel works.”

“Of course.”

“I wish I could give you more to go on, commander. But as it stands, our resources are already strained to the limits between building the Crucible and fighting the Reapers. We simply don't have the manpower to follow through with something like this.”

“I understand, Admiral,” assured Shepard, saluting again.

“Good. Hackett out.”

With that, Hackett ended the conversation, and Commander Shepard broke her salute, taking a long, laborious sigh.

This was going to be a tough one. She could already feel it.

“Joker,” Shepard spoke, two fingers pressed to her earpiece.

“Yeah, commander?” the Normandy's pilot replied.

“Set course for the Citadel. Things just got even stranger.”

 

* * *

 

The commander, while waiting for the Normandy to arrive at the Citadel, felt the need to check in on Liara. She did this as often as possible without being intrusive – as a general rule, once before every new mission was just right. However, her regular visit to her lover was to take on added impetus this time. Liara T'Soni was, of course, an asari herself, and therefore Shepard thought it plausible (if not altogether likely) that she may know something of interest regarding this case.

Oh, that, and the fact that Liara was also the most-feared, most-enigmatic information broker in the entire known galaxy. That was pretty important, too.

“Oh, hello, Shepard,” spoke Liara, too busy staring at a nearby monitor to greet the commander properly. “How are you?”

“I suppose things could be better,” Shepard responded, still thinking about her bizarre exchange with the Admiral only minutes previously. “But I guess I can't complain overall. You?”

“I'm fine, Shepard. Thank you for asking.”

Nodding, Shepard persisted, “Liara, do you have a minute? I need to fill you in on something.”

Pausing, Liara looked up from the monitor, and turned to face her significant other. “Sure, I suppose I can spare a moment or two. What is it?”

“I just received word from Admiral Hackett that we've got a new assignment,” the commander began. “And this one's just plain strange.”

Cocking her head slightly in puzzlement, Liara asked, “How so?”

“Well, not only are we dealing with someone who defected to an allied force, but we don't even know who that person _is_.”

“Defected to an allied force? Isn't that a tad... arbitrary?”

“My thoughts exactly, Liara,” Shepard concurred. “And that's only the start of it. Apparently, we're dealing with someone who has high-ranking access to Alliance intel – and, more importantly, someone who's leaking this information to the asari government.”

“But that... that makes no sense!” Liara reasoned, staring at the ground with her hand on her chin in an expression of deep thought.

“So, you haven't heard anything about any suspicious activity?” Shepard asked, already desperate for leads.

“No, Shepard. But I'll look into it, and let you know if I uncover anything out of the ordinary.”

“Thanks, Liara. I appreciate it.”

As Shepard turned and walked out of Liara's quarters, she heard Glyph wish her a nice day.

She doubted that wish would come true.

 

* * *

 

As one final measure before sending the team out to the Citadel, Shepard instructed everyone she'd be bringing with her to meet her in the starboard communications room. For this mission, she was bringing a somewhat-extended roster: Garrus Vakarian, Tali'Zorah, James Vega, and Liara. Her reasoning was deliberate: for example, Garrus had a fine eye for corruption, and was a gifted sleuth, to boot – obvious advantages for this sort of ordeal. Tali, meanwhile, was more-than-capable of cracking any encoded transmissions which may come their way. Considering the secretive nature of this defector's dealings, it seemed obvious to Shepard that such concerns were inevitably going to arise. Furthermore, James' raw muscle might be handy if things went sour, and Liara's superior talents at piecing seemingly-disparate strands of information together in order to grasp the greater whole were undoubtedly necessary.

The team assembled in the specified quarters, and Shepard was there waiting for them. She explained the gist of the situation to them, and elaborated that, due to the inherent shot-in-the-dark nature of this mission, she needed a larger-than-normal force. She further reminded the crew that this deployment was entirely-likely to be both more protracted and more subtle than average.

“I don't like this,” Garrus began after Shepard had finished her illustration of the situation. “Something's clearly going on here that we aren't aware of.”

“I agree;” Tali interjected, “it doesn't seem like we're dealing with just a simple defection. I've got a bad feeling about this, commander.”

 _Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, you guys,_ Shepard cynically thought.

“So, what exactly _do_ we have to go on, Lola?” James inquired.

That nickname still made part of her cringe. However, despite James' often-inappropriate comments on the commander's figure (made all-the-more inappropriate by the semi-open fact that she was already in a relationship), and despite his general bluntness, he had grown on the Commander, and she found herself letting this minor annoyance slide once again.

“Not a hell of a lot, James,” Shepard explained, reclining against the wall in resignation.

“Like I said before, Shepard, I'll help however I can,” assured Liara. “That being said, could I not be of better assistance looking for leads from my office?”

“What, chickening out suddenly after all this time, T'Soni?” Shepard joked, a slight, wry smile on her face.

“Not at all,” Liara chuckled.

Suddenly, Joker's voice spoke out over the intercom.

“The Normandy's docked, commander.”

“Alright, people,” the commander said, “Let's get it done.”

 

* * *

 

As Shepard walked out into the darkened corridors of docking bay D24, she could not help but feel a now-customary pang of sorrow at the spectacle laid before her. It was not so long ago (and yet, a lifetime ago) that Shepard had seen the Citadel at the height of its glory: sparkling, productive, and vibrant. Of course, even back then, certain dark corners of the station, such as Chora's Den, certainly proved blights on the otherwise-immaculate landscape. But even then, such drawbacks were negligible when compared with the prevailing sense of sophistication and architectural sublimity presiding over the ancient structure.

Now, however, the prevailing sentiment was not one of awe or wonder, but one of bare survival and utilitarian imperatives. It was clear to Shepard that the war had greatly affected the Citadel now that it had felt the shock of immanent conflict. Nowhere was this more clear than with the refugee population, who were now being turned away by the shiploads before they could even dock under threat of immediate aggressive deterrence. Citadel resources were already hugely strained before the attack. After it, supplies only became even more scarce between both the rebuilding effort and the concentrated attempts by C-Sec to guard against the possibility of future Cerberus strikes.

Even the lighting of the Citadel's upper decks seemed shadowy and foreboding, and she found that the lone Keeper pacing its way through the hallway looked somehow morose. Perhaps Shepard was merely imagining things, but she could swear that it, too, was mourning the sheer chaos and suffering that the Citadel and its population were now experiencing. For a split second, she even wondered if the Keeper could somehow _feel_ the Citadel's pain, almost as if there were some sort of symbiosis between them...

 _Nah,_ Shepard thought to herself, _that'd be ridiculous._

“Shepard, are you alright?” Garrus asked, snapping the commander out of her trance. “You look like you've got something on your mind.”

“Just... seeing the way this place has gone downhill...” Shepard spoke. “I've been to the Citadel numerous times, even recently --”

“But,” the turian sharpshooter interjected, “it never gets any easier. I feel the same way.”

Garrus stared out the nearby window at the grey skies which currently blanketed this once-proud monument to civilization. Shepard could tell that he was just as bothered by its apparent downfall – and the implications spawned therefrom – as she was.

“It makes you wonder,” Garrus continued, still staring at the dull, dreary view outside, “why anyone would use a situation like this to defect to another species' government. It's disgraceful.”

“I agree,” the commander continued, “it's bad enough that this is going on in the first place. But for it to happen when every species should be standing alongside eachother...”

The commander's voice trailed off, and this time, Garrus didn't bother to finish her sentence. He simply stared grimly out the very same window, unable to pry his gaze from the state of things.

After several moments of tense silence, Garrus broke his gaze at last, turning to face Shepard.

“I think I'm going to go talk to General Oraka. Even if he hasn't seen anything unusual, I might be able to use my place on the Normandy to get some leads on who has.”

“Good idea. I'm going to speak to Bailey. With his promotion to Commander, he has to have seen _some_ persons of interest pass through here recently.”

With that, the two turned to part ways. However, just before they began their separate objectives, Garrus said, “And Shepard...”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Of course. You too, Garrus.”

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

Shepard had made her way down to the Embassies, and it was obvious, as soon as she stepped through the door to Bailey's office, that the old veteran was still as busy as ever.

“Shepard?” Bailey asked, immediately looking up from his document-encumbered desk to acknowledge the commander, “What's up? You normally don't come here without a reason.”

“I'm here with an important objective in mind. I was hoping you could provide some information regarding a key figure I'm looking for.”

“I don't know if I can help, Shepard, but I can sure try – what's the name of this fella you're looking to find?”

“I... don't know.”

“What?” Bailey implored, looking entirely shocked, “Alright, well, what do they look like?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Occupation?”

“No idea.”

“Wh... um, gender?”

“Haven't the foggiest.”

“ _Species?_ ” Bailey inquired, flabergasted at Shepard's complete lack of knowledge regarding her own target.

“Presumably human.”

“Well, at least you know _that_ much!” Bailey replied, “Goddamn, Shepard... What the hell's Hackett got you doing now?”

“Simply put, I have to locate a defector who's been supplying the Asari Republics with top-secret Alliance intelligence. The thing is, I have no leads whatsoever. Alliance brass is too tied up with the war effort to be able to expend resources on this.”

Bailey scoffed at the absurd conditions of Shepard's assignment, “Sounds like quite the impossible situation. Then again, that's kinda your territory, now, isn't it?”

Shepard ignored this flattery – not because she didn't appreciate the thought, but because it made her uncomfortable to be reminded of the mountainous expectations nonchalantly heaped upon her shoulders every four seconds or so.

“Regardless, I just need some assistance in pinpointing any suspicious persons who've travelled through the Citadel in the past few weeks or so.”

“Well,” Bailey confirmed with a small touch of sarcasm at Shepard's seeming naïveté, “You can rest assured that we have no shortage of shady folks around here!”

“I'm not talking crimelords, Bailey. I'm not talking red sand dealers or black-market weapons cartels. I'm talking crooked diplomats, military-turned-mercs... anyone who might have access to that kind of information, and would have the capacity to present it to the asari for whatever reason.”

“Well, there is one guy I've noticed,” Bailey began. “Name's Jonathan Teague.”

“Jonathan Teague?” Shepard asked, her interest piqued at the prospect of a genuine lead.

“Yeah, he's a former Alliance dignitary. The way I hear things, he was kicked out of his position for kowtowing to other species too much.”

Bailey drew up a file on his omni-tool before continuing.

“Not only that, but he's apparently a fanatic for all things asari – culture, music, literature... you name it.”

“Sounds like a solid lead, I'd say.”

“Could be. I definitely think he fits your bill, Shepard.”

Shepard walked in behind Bailey to get a better glimpse over his shoulder of the suspect. He was a well-kept man, perhaps rather vain. Though his face was somewhat pale, the sleekness of his features – pronounced cheekbones, expressive face, and a lithe, willowy frame – instantly belayed any possible concern over his health. His grey-hazel eyes were at once emotive and haunting, almost in a mesmerizing way, and one got the feeling that this Jonathan Teague person was highly-charismatic – more-than-capable of bending others to his will.

A fine beige suit completed the look, as did his rich-yet-restrained goatee, grown out just past his chin, and with a well-managed mustache above. Meanwhile, his uncommonly-long hair, also a rich, dark brown, was tied tastefully into a ponytail, contributing an exotic flair to his already-imposing presence.

“He's quite a cut-above, isn't he?” Shepard noted with a hint of cynicism.

“Yeah, sure. A pretty-boy, you mean.” Bailey retorted with mocking disdain.

“Not keen on the sophisticated type, Bailey?”

“Not especially. Too soft, usually. They surprise you sometimes,” he spoke, pointing to the profile, “but just _look_ at those eyes! It's like he's trying to draw you in, or something! No, I don't trust 'im as far as I can throw 'im. I've had a bad feeling about the guy ever since he checked in. Something that's just... not right about him, somehow.”

Turning her attention away from the holographic projection and back to Bailey himself, Shepard asked, “Is he still here?”

After sifting through a few additional documents, Bailey grew concerned. His sifting turned to rushing, and finally, a look of puzzled resignation coloured his visage.

“What is it?” Shepard asked, her brow furrowing with worry.

“I... That can't be right!” Bailey wondered from beneath the hand clasped around his mustache-line.

“ _What's wrong, Bailey?_ ”

“He's not appearing in any C-Sec files, Shepard. Docking registration, store transactions... nothing. This doesn't make any sense!”

“You're sure you have his name right?”

“Of _course_ I'm sure, Shepard! It's right there in the file!” Bailey snapped, outraged that his organization was the victim of either crushing ineptitude or hacking from an exterior influence.

“I'm sorry, Shepard,” sighed Bailey, shutting off his omni-tool, “But it looks like the trail's gone cold for now. I'll see what I can do for you, but it's not looking good right now.”

 _Great,_ thought Shepard, _my only lead, and I can't track him down._

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Vakarian. What brings you here?” Former General Septimus Oraka inquired as the fellow turian approached him. Garrus had found Oraka frequenting his usual bench in the Presidium Commons section of the Citadel.

“I'm looking for some information, and I thought you might be able to help somehow.”

“Well, that depends,” Oraka began in a frank tone, “on what exactly it is you need.”

“With all due respect, General, I don't think we should talk about it here. It's more a matter for private discussion.”

“I see,” spoke Oraka, a quiet intrigue permeating his voice.

The two turians walked a few steps, before Oraka suggested, “Why don't we head for Purgatory? The music plays so loud there, we'd be lucky to even hear _ourselves_ over the racket.”

“Sounds good.”

Garrus and Oraka proceeded to enter a rapid-transit cab bound for the shady nightclub.

Once there, they immediately sat down at a table located in the far corner of the club, away from the rest of the regulars.

“So, what was this urgent information you needed?” Oraka inquired, his hard gaze centred with focus on Garrus' face.

“Well, we hear word that there's an informant – a defector, more like – who is leaking high-ranking Alliance intel to the Asari Republics. We have no idea why, and nor do we know who. That's where _you_ come in. I need answers, and I was hoping you could give them to me.”

“I see.” Oraka looked down for a moment in deep thought, before looking back up to Garrus and commenting, “You _do_ know that I'm retired, right, Vakarian?”

“Yes, sir,” Garrus replied, “but I figured that you were the best bet I had. It's not like we're running out of leads – it's more like we have none to run out of.”

“So,” began Oraka, making sure that he was assessing the situation correctly, “let me see here. You need information on someone who has connections to the asari, as well as access to sensitive Alliance information. You also need to make sure that they have a reason to betray their own species. Is that about right, so far?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a retired turian general was your best bet? You really _are_ at a loss here, aren't you?”

“That's why I need your help, sir,” persisted Garrus.

Oraka sighed, sternly staring at his talons folded on the table. After several moments of complete silence and concentration, Oraka finally began to speak, though without making eye contact at first.

“Well, I might just have the man you're looking for.”

“Really?” Garrus replied, trying to subdue his enthusiasm as best he could.

“Yes. I was involved in a joint operation awhile back,” the former general related, head snapping up to meet Garrus', “between Alliance and Hierarchy forces. It was just a training venture, designed to facilitate goodwill between our species. Nothing spectacular.”

“But...” Garrus prodded.

“But, during that time, I had the immense displeasure of meeting a young Staff Lieutenant by the name of Boris Arnold.”

“That name rings a bell somehow...”

“And so it should. But I'll get to that in a moment. Anyway, Arnold was not a particularly pleasant man. Always drunk off his ass, barely able to stand up half the time. Always was shouting obscenities at his fellow soldiers, and not doing a very coherent job of it, either. I honestly was amazed – or perhaps more appalled than anything – that he had made it so far into the Alliance's ranks. Regardless, I thought his career was going to end pretty quickly. I was wrong.”

“Continue, sir,” Garrus implored, truly fascinated by this point.

“Well, eventually, I found out he had somehow made it even further, to the rank of General. I was absolutely stunned, until I heard about the scandal.”

“The scandal?”

“Yes. It seems that he was being... 'helped' through the military, if you catch my drift. Boris Arnold's grandfather – Admiral Gregory Arnold – was an influential member of the Alliance forces, and he was more-than-capable of encumbering his grandson's detractors in a wave of paperwork and bureaucracy if they dared try to stop his promotion.” Oraka paused, then continued, “And he could do far worse if they tried to get him out of their sight altogether.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, that was the strange part. The Alliance court-martial declared that they couldn't locate an exact motivation for the supposed criminal activity. Gregory Arnold was acquitted of all charges, and Boris Arnold continues to this day as a General in the Systems Alliance Military.”

“That's insane! There's gotta be something fishy going on there.”

“Some people have claimed threats by the Blue Suns as a possible reason for the court-martial's decision. They think that the elder Arnold made a pact of some kind with them, in order to make his position even more untouchable in the wake of the charges placed against him. But, no one's been able to prove anything due to his position being so firmly-entrenched.”

Garrus reclined back slightly, taking in the implications of corruption. Garrus, as ever, had a strong sense of justice, and hearing about this sort of abuse of power made him sick to his stomach. It was this kind of thing that made him want to go back to popping merc heads on Omega.

“But there's still one thing I don't get,” Garrus spoke, trying to fit together the different pieces of the puzzle. “If this 'Boris' guy is so important to this mission, then what's his connection to the asari?”

“Well, he's also been suspected of –” Oraka made air-quotes with his talons, “'being careless' with information and having it –” the air quotes returned, “'get out' into the hands of information brokers.”

“So you're saying it's probably just another cover-up, and that he's probably doing it on purpose to make a quick credit.”

“It's certainly possible. Then again,” the former general said as he turned his gaze to the side, “he always _was_ dead-weight, so maybe it really _was_ accidental.” Turning his attention back to Garrus with iron-eyed disgust, he reiterated, “ _But I doubt it._ ”

As Oraka rose, he said, “Now, if you'll excuse me, Vakarian, I have some ambience to take in.”

“Of course, sir. And, thank you.”

Turning back to Garrus one final time, Oraka replied, “Don't mention it, Vakarian.”

Garrus got the distinct feeling that Oraka was being literal.

 

* * *

 

Liara wondered how she would find a lead in the carefully-veiled web of lies and corruption that was the Citadel. She certainly was not naïve enough to search for it anywhere other than in the seedy underbelly that proved the ancient galactic hub's most lucrative sub-infrastructure. As she sat and puzzled, she suddenly realized she had become so used to managing contacts as the Shadow Broker that she was now absent-mindedly clicking through them on her omnipresent datapad. She didn't even have to be consciously thinking about what she was doing anymore, and this bothered her.

 _So much power at my fingertips,_ Liara thought to herself, _and yet, so little concern. Maybe Shepard's right – maybe I_ should _take some time for myself._

Sighing and closing her eyes as she lowered her datapad, she thought further.

_I told Shepard that helping her stop the Reapers would keep me honest... but what about after this war is over? I can't just stop being the Shadow Broker._

She looked out towards the horizon of the Citadel.

_Can I?_

She barely had time to take in the profound implications of this simple-yet-daunting question before she received a new message on her datapad:

 

_Dr. T'Soni,_

_I would very much like to meet with you in my office. Please come see me at your earliest convenience. I will be waiting for you in the Embassies section of the Citadel._

_-Vice-Councillor Leydra Nancia_

 

Liara could scarcely believe her eyes. The asari vice-councillor? What could this possibly mean?

In all truth, though the offer was strange, it was not entirely illustrious. The vice-councillors were rarely talked about, and many people didn't even know they existed. This was mainly because of the utilitarian role they played in galactic politics. More specifically, they served essentially as secretaries for the Council proper, only becoming truly-noticeable in the hypothetical circumstance of one or more councillors being assassinated (or otherwise expiring in office). Under such pressing conditions, the vice-councillors would be temporarily sworn-in as a provisional government, until such a time as permanent replacements could be appointed. The resolution leading to the assembly of the first vice-councillors came about after Commander Shepard allowed the former Council to die – saving 50,000 other lives in the process.

With this in mind, she made haste for the Citadel Embassies. Immediately upon arriving there, a typically-svelte asari beckoned for Liara to come her way. She did so.

“Hello, Doctor,” began the asari, “I'm Leydra Nancia. Thank you for joining me. Let's go somewhere private – I have some business to discuss with you.”

As the two made their way to wherever it was the vice-councillor was leading her, Liara observed the dark purple skin hue Leydra possessed. Honestly, though her face-shape was very different, the vice-councillor somewhat reminded Liara of her former assistant, Nyxeris – an unsettling parallel which only made Liara even more uneasy about the whole affair.

“With all due respect, vice-councillor,” Liara began, “you haven't enlightened me as to the reason you called me here.”

“Oh, you'll find out soon enough,” Leydra replied, in an almost-taunting tone.

Liara didn't have time to respond to this cryptic statement before the two had arrived at their apparent destination. It was an oddly-empty room in a far-removed corner of the Embassies level. The room was largely bare, save for two black, cushioned chairs and a oblong mat on the floor made of beige-stained bamboo. That said, it also boasted an impressive-looking window which spanned the entire back wall.

“Alright,” the vice-councillor spoke at last, resting in one of the chairs and motioning for Liara to do the same. “Now, then. Let's get down to business...”

The purple asari grinned a devious, though still-diplomatic, smile as she said: “ _I have a very interesting proposition for you_.”

 

* * *

 

James Vega had been dutifully attempting to locate leads since he had set foot again on the Citadel. Unfortunately, the gung-ho soldier was not the greatest detective who had ever lived, and he was struggling to figure out who to question. This issue was further compounded by the fact that Vega had no connections whatsoever to any persons of significant interest here. All this essentially meant that James' mission had been reduced to wandering the Citadel aimlessly, trying to spy something that looked out of the ordinary.

 _Damn, this is ridiculous,_ he thought as he walked through the Embassies section. _Lola's counting on me here. I should be doing more than just lazing around like this._

As Vega walked down the rightmost corridor of the Embassies, he passed Udina's former office, as well as that of Commander Bailey. He also wandered past the Spectre Office, and felt his usual spike in curiosity at what could possibly be contained within. He considered asking the commander about this, but figured it was probably too classified to divulge, anyway.

And besides, he had more-pressing matters to attend to.

Moving on, he found himself at the farthest corner of the hallway, and he was just about to leave for another section when he heard a familiar voice from behind a nearby door.

 _Is that Liara? What's_ she _doing here?_

Against his better judgement, he walked closer to the door and pressed his ear to it. He wouldn't normally eavesdrop on a fellow crew member, but something just didn't feel right about this – and James was, by all accounts, an impulsive man.

He was instantly surprised to find that the door was not at all soundproofed; then again, this appeared to be a spare room, lacking any discernable markings suggesting otherwise. The words being spoken between Liara and whoever it was she was talking with were, at times, rather difficult to make out. Regardless, Vega was able to make out enough to understand what was being said.

The more he heard, the more his heart sank.

The proposal made by the other person in the room – a vice-councillor, apparently (did those even exist?) – was absolutely ludicrous, and James knew that there was no way in hell that Liara was going to accept it. Something _that_ traitorous, that... _brutal_ , would never fly with any member of the Normandy's crew, and least of all the commander's lover herself. Much to Vega's satisfaction, Liara was instantly outraged and shocked by the vice-councillor's “proposition”.

The threat came next. If Liara didn't agree to this, the vice-councillor said, there was no way to ensure that Thessia would continue to be safe from Reaper invasion. Of course, she conceded, agreeing to this wouldn't _ensure_ anything anyway. But then, the vice-councillor stooped even lower still, manipulatively asking Liara if she really wanted to take a chance and risk contributing to her own homeworld's destruction.

Liara was silent for a few solid minutes, but, in spite of this, Vega remained enthralled by the situation, gravely concerned over how it would culminate.

It was obvious, Vega could tell, that the vice-councillor was honestly concerned about her homeworld – as any person would be at a time like this – and, for a few moments, he even felt sorry for her. But after hearing the ruthless, desperately-manipulative tone in her voice, any remorse burned away to sheer disgust. She was placing Liara, a person extremely-close to the commander, yet also very attached to her people, in a purposely-uncertain situation so as to get her to betray her own love. Playing with her emotions to keep certain things running as they were. Producing a crisis of conscience to prevent a crisis of politics (albeit one which had the potential to ultimately culminate in a far-greater travesty). Desperate times or not, it was wrong.

That's why Vega was stunned breathless when Liara reluctantly agreed.

A lot of people would have hurriedly vacated the area upon noticing that the person they were eavesdropping on was about to leave the room. James Vega, however, was sure of his own sense of justice to the point of it being a fault, and he merely waited beside the door for her.

“So,” Vega spoke, brooding.

Instantly, Liara jumped in surprise, whirling around and exasperatedly asking, “Vega! What are _you_ doing here?”

James observed Liara's facial expression for a moment. It betrayed a mixture of fear, shock, and anger. Truly incensed by Liara's behaviour, he merely thought, _caught red-handed._

“This isn't like you, Liara.”

“Wh... what are you referring to?” responded Liara, half-breathless.

“You know exactly what I'm 'referring to'. You can't do this to the commander! It's not right – and that's an understatement!” For a split second, Vega's voice changed to a slightly-more pleading tone.

“You don't know what you're talking about!” Liara replied, now truly-indignant at Vega's presumptuousness.

“I know you're concerned about Thessia, but –”

“I'm not just ' _concerned_ ', Vega. I'm _terrified_. I heard about Earth from you and Shepard! I was there when we helped on Menae! Goddess, even the _batarians_ have been utterly decimated – nearly to the point of extinction, no less!”

Liara was vibrating with livid sorrow by this point, but Vega pressed on, completely unfazed.

“That doesn't matter! I'd already be pretty pissed-off if you were just another member of the crew! But you're her _girlfriend_ , for god's sake! Doesn't that mean _anything at all_ to you, Liara?”

As boiling mad as the asari Shadow Broker was already, her face grew two-or-three times more enraged at this last question. The vibrating stopped, and she froze entirely to the spot. Even Vega was somewhat intimidated by her now-unfathomable anger.

“ _Don't you_ dare _doubt my love for Shepard, Vega,_ ” she growled in a seething mixture of indignant outrage and violent aggression.

“If you love her so much, then why don't you trust her to help your people?” Vega replied, still too angry himself to care for his own well-being.

Rather than respond, she looked down to the ground, and Vega could see her eyes beginning to tear up.

“It's not that simple,” Liara responded at last, with a sense of having been betrayed by the impossibility of the choice she was given.

“Yes it is, Liara.”

Dr. T'Soni merely shook her head, too encumbered by the possible ramifications of that to which she had just agreed to defend her position any further – indeed, she was not even sure if she could defend it for herself.

She turned, and began to walk away, but Vega had one more thing left to say before she could finish doing so.

“Don't expect me to stay quiet about this, Liara.”

In a tone which was both threatening and resigned, she said, “It's your word against mine, Vega.”

Liara continued her abandonment of the conversation, and Vega merely grimaced.

What he didn't see was the onslaught of silent, self-loathing tears which were now streaming endlessly down her face.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“I have to say, I'm surprised he's this close,” Garrus observed as he and Tali sat in Purgatory.

“Why?” Tali asked, sipping a drink through an emergency induction port, “Didn't Oraka warn you about him being a drunk?”

“Yeah, but still...” Garrus trailed off.

The duo had been eyeing their quarry for a few minutes now. Tali had been at a loss as far as leads went, and had found herself all-too-willing to assist Garrus once she had been informed of Boris Arnold's suspect status. Her first move thereafter was to hack into C-Sec registration files, searching for Arnold's name and information. She had found it within a few seconds of searching, and the two had headed for Purgatory at Tali's suggestion. For all of Garrus' doubts, it had proved to be a very good idea, after all.

“So, which one of us is going to be the one to question him?” Tali inquired after a few moments of silence.

“I'd better go,” Garrus began. “I have more experience with these types of things.”

“Yeah, and you're also about as subtle as a Vorcha diplomat,” the quarian pointed out. “Not only that, but your past at C-Sec might throw him off.”

“True, but how would he know I was at C-Sec? I left long before he became a problem. I also wasn't particularly noteworthy outside of our own ranks before the whole Saren thing.”

“Look at him, Garrus,” Tali asserted as she pointed to their target, “he's already nearly drunk under the table. Unshaven, too. He's _bound_ to be a lecher.”

“Are you suggesting you offer yourself up as bait?”

“Why not? We've got to get some information out of him somehow, and it would be best to take advantage of every weakness we can find. He has next-to-no social inhibitions right now, so I _should_ \--”

“No. No way,” interrupted Garrus, concerned. “There's no way I'm letting you do that, Tali.”

“Why, Vakarian?” Tali asked playfully, a smirk emerging beneath her mask, “worried about me?”

Garrus' face took on a noticeably awkward dimension as he shyly turned his attention to the leftmost lower corner of the table. Tali swore that he'd have been blushing were it not for turian physiology.

“Relax,” she assured Garrus, “I'll be alright.”

Tali reached out and took Garrus' hand in hers for a moment, and they shared a brief glance before she rose to speak with Arnold. Garrus looked concerned, but she knew that Tali had a will of iron, and wouldn't be swayed.

It had kind of crept up on them, but Tali and Garrus were, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew (except for maybe the omnipresent EDI), something of an item. Garrus couldn't say for sure exactly what about Tali was attractive to him – maybe he just admired strong, independent females – but he knew, as he watched the confident-yet-fragile quarian saunter over to the scum of the Citadel, he felt great worry over her well-being.

Tali'Zorah, meanwhile, was similarly worried over Garrus. It had only been relatively recently that she had learned of the origins of Garrus' conspicuous facial scarring. She remembered being sad for him at the time, but now that things between them had begun to escalate, it was apparent to Tali that she felt very protective of her turian partner. A bizarre fusion of both motherly protectiveness and a powerful romantic affection had drawn the young admiral to a person who had once merely been a fellow squadmate. Garrus' vulnerability would seem to some as a drawback, a proverbial ball and chain – but to Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, it was a reason to provide all the love she could give to him.

Maybe then, his scars would heal.

Tali put all of this out of her mind as she abruptly sat down beside the incompetent drunkard. Reeking of alcohol, the half-conscious brute rested his stubble-encrusted chin on his left hand (the elbow of which was in turn perched precariously upon the bar table). As Tali attempted to maintain a balance in her pose between seductive temptress and independent bar-goer (doing a surprisingly good job of it, too), Arnold somehow managed to get the coordination up to turn around and say, “Hey! Who've we got he –”

Cutting himself off in the midst of a smile dripping with perverted glee, his grin instantly wilted at the sight of the purple-clad quarian.

“Oh. It's just one of _you._ ”

Tali grimaced slightly, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle with indignation. This was not the first time she had suffered racial discrimination, but the familiar sting never got any less infuriating.

Regardless, Tali grudgingly looked past this preliminary offense, seeking to get information from this pathetic waste of oxygen however possible.

“Hey! Come here often, mister?” Tali said, her tone unconvincing in light of the events immediately prior.

Looking rather annoyed, Arnold turned his head back to Tali, and with a slight slur, retorted, “Really? You must be pretty hard-up if you're lookin' at me.”

The pompous arrogance of this man would have normally made Tali even more furious than she already was. For the sake of the mission, however, she was willing to endure such ridiculous (though oddly self-deprecating) statements.

At least, she was before he kept talking.

Sighing slightly, the man clearly thought that Tali had not yet understood his point, and raised his voice as he disparagingly remarked, “Listen, suit-rat. I don't have time for your antics. I don't have any shiny knick-knacks for you to cop from me while I'm sleeping, so just piss off.”

With that, Arnold attempted to return to his drink. However, Tali was, by this point, unable to restrain her furor. Like any quarian, she was understandably antagonistic to the vulgar racism all-too-often directed at her people. And like any quarian, she didn't take all that well to having malignant stereotypes flung her way – least of all by _this_ wretch.

Impulsively, Tali pushed the man's drink over just as he was about to take it in hand, then stood up in a sudden and imposing fashion.

With great ire, she snarled, “ _Listen, you prejudiced little bosh'tet. We know what you're doing, and you're going to tell us every last detail of your little 'operation'. Do you understand me?”_

Again, Arnold's expression wilted, though this time he looked more than simply turned-off. Indeed, his face betrayed true fear, and, immediately, he threw his now-empty glass at Tali before booking it out of Purgatory.

“Tali, what the hell were you _thinking?_ ” Garrus demanded as he quickly walked up to her.

“I – Garrus, I'm sorry,” she began, “My anger got the better of me.”

Seeing that Tali was deeply apologetic, Garrus softened a bit before proposing, “It's fine. But if we don't catch up to him soon, _he's_ going to get the better of _us._ ”

“So... are we going after him?”

Garrus looked around for a few seconds, trying to see if Arnold was still in the immediate area. He winced in dismay, and replied, “No. There's no point. We've lost him... for now.”

Placing a talon securely on his earpiece, he began, “Shepard. This is Garrus.”

“What is it, Garrus?” Shepard's voice sounded.

“We think we've found a lead. We tried to apprehend the suspect, but things went bad. Have you found anything?”

“Yeah. Trail's cold here, too, though.”

“What's our next course of action?”

“We'll rendezvous at the Normandy in fifteen minutes to discuss that matter.”

“Copy that.”

With that, Garrus beckoned for Tali to accompany him, and the two partners began making their way back to docking bay D24.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, people,” Shepard began, addressing the crew in the starboard communications room of the Normandy, “What have we got?”

“A lead,” Garrus spoke, activating his omni-tool and bringing up a profile, “and a good one, too, we think.”

“Lay it on me,” the commander implored.

“His name is Boris Arnold,” Tali interjected, “and we think he's a prime candidate.”

“Why?” Shepard inquired, interested.

“Well,” Garrus continued, “For starters, he's already been implicated in criminal activities. He was accused of being illicitly aided through the Alliance's ranks by his grandfather, a decorated Admiral. He was acquitted of all charges, but it's pretty clear the trial was rigged, especially considering that he's so useless at his job.”

“I see,” Shepard spoke, “but how does this implicate him directly in our case? What connection does he have to the asari?”

“There is apparently reason to believe that he would do practically anything to make a quick credit. Oraka said he wouldn't be surprised if he had conveniently let Alliance intel slip to information brokers in order to do so.”

“Not only that,” Tali interjected again, “but he's a General, which means he could have access to the kind of sensitive information we're talking about.”

“Exactly,” Garrus concluded.

Shepard held a hand to her chin, staring at the floor in deep thought for a few moments. After this reflection, she responded, “Still, that's a pretty big leap. He sounds like a real scumbag, but if there aren't any conclusive links...”

“But that's the best part,” Garrus remarked.

“Oh?” Shepard asked.

“Yeah,” Tali elaborated. “When I...” Tali looked at Garrus for a moment with uncertainty before continuing, “tried to question him, he looked terrified that we were on to him. He was guilty of _something_ , that's for sure.”

“And judging by the way he bolted out of Purgatory in record time,” Garrus asserted, “It's entirely possible he's our guy.”

“That's definitely suspicious,” considered Shepard. “Still, I don't imagine that our target is that... _improvisational_.”

“What do you mean?” Tali asked.

“Well, think about it, Tali. Obviously, our prime suspect has the ability to do all of this in secret. We also aren't sure of just how long this has been going on for. That sort of ambiguity only comes with skill. I don't think a witless drunkard could orchestrate such a complex operation.”

Tali and Garrus looked at eachother for a moment, having never thought of this possibility.

“So, what lead did you locate, Shepard?” Garrus asked the commander.

“His name is,” the commander began, pulling a profile on her own omni-tool, “Jonathan Teague. He's a former Alliance dignitary, and a pretty well-respected one, though controversial. Unfortunately for him, that controversy ended up costing him his job.”

“How so?” Garrus inquired, intrigued.

“He was accused by the Alliance of kowtowing too much to other species' demands. In particular, he was known for being lenient to the asari. He's also known to be an aficionado of their culture, to what many would call an obsessive degree.”

“That certainly does sound closer to what we need,” Garrus admitted, deep in thought.

“Then it's settled. Our first priority is the apprehension of Jonathan Teague.” Commander Shepard concluded with an air of finality.

The rest of the crew was about to voice their agreement, but Liara spoke before they could do so.

“Hold on,” Liara began, sounding concerned over the way things were developing. “Aren't we rushing into this? Isn't it possible that we're missing the bigger picture here?”

The rest of the crew looked at her in surprise – curious as to what she meant, but taken off-guard by the sudden nature of her input.

“What do you mean, Liara?” Shepard inquired.

“Think about it, Shepard,” Liara continued, walking around the room as she argued her point. “It's possible that Teague is our target. He has all of the necessary characteristics. And yet, you seem to overlook a key possibility with regards to our other suspect.”

“I do? What are you referring to?”

“No one ever said Arnold was our man. But it's entirely plausible that he could _lead us_ to him _._ ”

The crew looked even more surprised as they took a few seconds to absorb this new development.

“So you're saying,” Garrus stated, “that Arnold is _working for_ our guy?”

“I'm saying I wouldn't be surprised, Garrus. Shepard even said herself that she's come to the obvious conclusion that this man is working in secret, whoever he is. And given my occupation,” Liara reminded the crew, eyeing them all, “I think I know a thing or two about running operations behind the scenes.”

“You have a point,” Tali remarked. “After all, one would assume that our target wouldn't be so willing to make their presence known. They'd want to keep this thing going for as long as possible.”

“Precisely, Tali.”

“I don't think so, Liara,” Vega suddenly piped up, walking out of the background and into the middle of the room with everybody else.

Liara grimaced for a split-second before answering, “Why not, Vega?”

“Well, for one thing,” Vega argued, “This 'Teague' guy is really good at covering his tracks. Isn't that right, Lola?”

“That's true,” the commander affirmed, a look of troubled consideration dotting her face, “Bailey couldn't find any data which confirmed his presence at the Citadel, despite the fact that he checked in recently. That's rather suspicious, to say the least. And with all the other evidence that points to him... Granted, it's all circumstantial, but that's really all we have to go on at this point.”

“Listen, Shepard,” Liara retorted, “all I'm saying is that we should be careful to look at things from every angle before we act. I think Arnold is a bit of a wild-card, honestly. He could either backfire immensely, or pay off completely. At the very least, it can't hurt to try.”

“Well, alright, Liara, if you're sure,” concluded the commander, with a hint of uncertainty. “I guess we're going after your lead, after all, Garrus.”

Garrus' countenance betrayed a sense of confused agreement. He, like much of the rest of the crew, was astonished at the speed with which the entire trajectory of the mission had been swayed – and, more to the point, was wondering ever-so-slightly why Liara, ever-supportive, had been the one to sway it.

_I must be imagining things,_ Garrus thought, _there's no way that's possible._

“Dismissed.”

The assembled crewmates made their way out of the room, and Vega in particular grunted with disapproval as he did so.

“What's got _him_ all worked up?” Shepard inquired.

“No idea, Shepard,” Liara responded. “Perhaps the stress of the mission.”

“No, that doesn't seem like Vega...”

The commander's puzzled expression was relieved by Liara's hand on her shoulder.

“I'm going to head back to my office,” Liara smiled, “If you need me, I'll be there.”

“Of course, Liara,” Shepard smiled back.

The two shared a brief, private kiss before Liara left the room. Shepard, meanwhile, headed back to her quarters for a quick respite.

 

* * *

 

Vega, in his anxiety over the developing situation, had made his way to the commander's cabin on Deck 1. It was highly unusual for anyone to head up there unless invited (in fact, it was pretty risky territory), but he hoped this would only provide further evidence of the sincerity of his concern.

Knocking on the door in two quick raps, he heard the commander say, “Who is it?”

“It's me,” Vega replied.

Shepard was instantly taken aback by this, and in a surprised tone, asked, “James? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, Lola.”

There was that cringe again. Try as she might, Commander Shepard could never get used to the implications of insubordination (not to mention outright sexism, even if unintentional) associated with that nickname. She was really beginning to regret ever giving Vega permission to use it.

“One second,” Shepard told her visitor as she got off the bed she had been resting on momentarily.

Opening the door of the cabin, she invited Vega to come in.

“So,” Shepard began, looking directly at the soldier, “What did you want to talk about, James?”

Vega looked uncertain as to whether or not he should even continue. Regardless, he steeled himself, and began to speak.

“Alright, Lola,” Vega began, “It's like this. While we were on the Citadel, I found myself roaming the Embassies. You know, trying to find out what I could, as per the objective. Unfortunately, it wasn't working that well, so I found myself wandering aimlessly.

“Eventually, though, I overheard the start of a conversation between two people. Since I thought I heard a familiar voice, I decided to listen in on it, to make sure they were alright.”

Vega paused for a second, collecting his thoughts.

“As it turns out, they were more than alright,” he stated, looking back squarely at the commander. “But there's something going on here, and it's something you need to know about.”

Shepard, looking genuinely concerned, simply requested that Vega continue. He obliged.

“This isn't easy for me to say, Lola,” Vega assured, “and if I hadn't heard it myself, I probably wouldn't believe it.”

“Out with it, already, James. What did you hear?”

“What I heard was,” he divulged, sighing laboriously, “a conversation between one of the vice-councillors and one of the crew. The vice-councillor wasn't exactly slow in delivering a proposal, and when that proposal went over about as well as a quarian tanning booth, they didn't hesitate to use blackmail.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means there's a Judas in our midst. And they're planning to throw you off from the real deal in order to make sure that information keeps getting to the Asari Republics. Failing that, they've already got a set-up in store for us.”

Shepard looked stunned at this revelation. After a few moments of intense consideration, she asked Vega, “And you're sure of this?”

“Absolutely, ma'am. I know what I heard.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “Who is this 'Judas'?”

Still maintaining direct and unflinching eye contact, Vega let the truth roll out of his mouth with unimpeded frankness.

“It's Liara, ma'am.”

Shepard's face at this point displayed a profound mixture of sheer shock, disbelief, and horror. Within a matter of seconds, however, it turned to an expression of utter incredulity.

“Alright. That's not funny, Vega,” she asserted, waving a hand to signal for him to stop. “That's insane. Who did you _really_ hear?”

Vega merely stared harshly at the commander, signifying that he was telling the truth. At this, the commander's brow furrowed in tangible anger.

“I don't appreciate these sorts of accusations, Vega. You must have heard incorrectly.”

“I didn't hear anything incorrectly, Lo –”

“Don't call me that.” Shepard had finally had enough of that patronizing moniker, and she raised two fingers to signal for him to be silent.

“Listen to me,” Vega remarked, raising his voice out of worry rather than rage, “and listen well. You can choose to believe me or not, but it won't change what happened. Now, I _know_ what I heard. And right now, I'm trying to help you, so we don't all end up dead trying to find this guy.”

Shepard's anger merely mounted, and with acerbic forthrightness, she stated, “ _I think you're out of line, soldier._ ”

“Dammit, I'm _not_ out of line!”

Vega's brief outburst was enough to send the commander over the edge – not an easy task.

Clenching her fists, she continued, “I beg to differ. Now _get out._ ”

“Why in hell would I point the finger at Liara unless I thought there was a reason? She's never done anything to me!”

“Gee, I don't know!” Shepard exclaimed, her anger reaching a fever pitch, “Maybe you're on-edge because she just so happens to be an asari! Or maybe you just have your head stuck that far up your ass! Now, I won't ask you again – _get out!_ ”

With a grim expression and a single “tch!”, Vega turned around and made for the door.

“Fine. Get us all killed, commander,” he spoke with grim submission.

Vega left for the Shuttle Bay, but Commander Shepard stood there enraged for several minutes afterward.

 

* * *

 

After a few more minutes, the commander had cleared her head, and was preparing to visit Liara again. She felt that this time in particular, she really needed to be around her.

There was something therapeutic for Shepard about Liara. Her intelligence and level-headedness were certainly factors, as was Liara's naturally compassionate nature. No matter the problem, Shepard always felt that she could turn to Liara – not only for answers, but also for encouragement and a protective embrace. She felt that, no matter how desperate or bleak the situation could get, she could always talk through her worries and obstacles with this one remarkable, incredible woman, whose pure nature was matched only by her shimmering and immaculate beauty.

Liara would always beat herself up about never being able to help Shepard; but she was more helpful – more vital -- to the commander than she could ever possibly comprehend.

And her smile! How many times had Shepard been in the very depths of uncertainty, or despair, or sheer terror? And yet, seeing that perfectly-sculpted, joyous smile, full of optimism and spirit, had always gotten her through. Just as numerous were the times when she had endured such circumstances in an effort to see that smile again – whether by simply living to see another day, or by helping Liara with her own problems in turn. It was the absolute least the commander could do to repay the years of undying loyalty and honest love which Liara had provided her with.

As she entered Liara's office, she felt more sure than ever that Vega's outrageous accusations were petty and inaccurate – misinformed at best, and inexplicably malicious at worst.

“Hey, Liara,” Shepard greeted her asari lover warmly. “How are things?”

Liara smiled as best she could, but there was an obvious twinge of melancholy to her expression.

“Hello, Shepard. Everything's going well. How about you?”

“Not bad, overall. Just thought I'd check in on you, make sure you were hanging in there.”

Shepard drew closer, prompting Liara to rise to her feet and meet her halfway. As Shepard took Liara's hands in hers, she stared into those shimmering blue eyes she adored so much. Rife with oceanic beauty and mystique, they glimmered with a spark of intelligence and emotion the likes of which she had never witnessed in any other person.

Smiling still, Liara looked down for a moment at their clasped hands, saying, “Shepard, I know you. There must have been _some_ reason you came here.”

Shepard nodded, and her smile fell. Releasing her hands, she said, “Vega and I had a falling-out a few minutes ago.”

Slightly alarmed (though not showing it), Liara inquired, “Oh? What about?”

The commander sighed heavily, and placed a hand on her head in exasperation. Looking to her side at nothing in particular, she elaborated, “I don't know. Something ridiculous about you setting me up, planting false leads and throwing me off so the defector can somehow help your government – presumably to overcome the Reapers.”

With hesitation, Liara replied, “I see.”

“I have no idea what the hell is going on in that man's head,” Shepard stated, “but whatever it is, it's absolutely insane.”

Turning to face Liara again, Commander Shepard noticed that she looked somehow more vulnerable than usual – more fragile. Walking up to her slowly, Shepard embraced her, and felt the familiar warmth encompass her body.

“Don't worry, Liara,” she said softly, “I have no reason to doubt you.”

Planting a long, tender kiss on Liara's head, she half-whispered, “I love you.”

Slowly stepping back out of the embrace, Shepard witnessed a tearful, smiling Liara. That was what she had come for. She needed to see that wonderful smile – that beautiful, beautiful face truly happy.

Still smiling herself, the commander spoke, “I'll talk to you later.”

“Of... course, Shepard.” Liara confided, wiping away a tear and swallowing a lump in her throat.

As the door to her office closed, Liara sat back down in her seat and immediately held her head in her hands. Reclining backwards with her head held to the skies, tears streamed down her face despite her best efforts, as she lamented, “Goddess... _what have I done?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Shepard still had one more stop to make. After all, her squad may have known who they were going after, but that didn't mean they knew where to find him. She needed to provide a report to Admiral Hackett concerning the present state of the mission anyway, so she figured she could ask him about the whereabouts of the target.

“Traynor,” Shepard called to the comm specialist aboard Deck 2 of the Normandy, “I need to speak with Admiral Hackett. Can you patch me through?”

“Of course, commander,” Traynor replied.

The commander walked with purpose through the leftmost door on the deck, past Privates Campbell and Westmoreland, who were stationed at their usual posts. Shepard wondered for a moment if they had been placed there in an effort to avoid another hostile takeover of the ship like what had happened a year ago. Regardless, she made her way through the war room, stopping in the familiar blue-lit alcove that was the comm room. She had excellent timing – Hackett was just coming in.

“Commander,” Hackett began, “You wished to speak with me? What is it?”

“Well, sir,” Shepard elaborated, “We think we've found a couple of solid leads as to the identity of the defector. We're attempting to apprehend one of them for questioning.”

“Sounds like you're making progress,” Hackett observed. “So, what's the problem?”

Shepard explained further, “He's not exactly an easy target to track down. We lost him after our initial attempt went bad. Now we need to determine his current whereabouts.”

“I see. Who is this target, commander?”

“His name is Boris Arnold, sir,” Shepard said, thinking she noticed an ever-so-slight hint of surprise on the Admiral's face. “He was involved in –”

“I'm aware of the name, commander,” Hackett interjected, a hand to his chin in thought. “This actually works out surprisingly well, then.”

“Sir?” The commander inquired, clearly confused.

“Well, it just so happens that we've already tracked him down.”

“You were looking for him, too?”

“Yes. We had long suspected him of being involved with various criminal activities, but it was nigh-on-impossible to get anything conclusive on him. His grandfather's as slippery as they come.”

“But...?”

“But,” Hackett continued, “At my personal request, I managed to start a surveillance operation behind his back. It seems they located Arnold earlier today – only about an hour ago, in fact. I was going to send in an N7 team to capture him, but if you're already going after him...”

“I'll bring him back, sir,” Shepard affirmed. “Just tell me where to find him.”

“He's on a condemned prison satellite by the name of Tartarus-1, located in the Horsehead Nebula. It was originally intended as a competitor to the Purgatory satellite that got destroyed a year back, but after various accidents and an extremely bad reputation for murdering its inmates, it fell into disuse.”

“I see, sir.”

“Be careful, commander,” Hackett warned, “It's not exactly the safest place in the galaxy. Its defense systems were notorious for being downright impregnable, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were still online. Not to mention it's completely run-down.”

“I understand, sir. I'll have Arnold in Alliance hands as soon as possible,” Shepard promised with a firm salute.

“Glad to hear it. Hackett out.”

Shepard took a deep breath after Hackett had disconnected, and made her way across the bridge to Joker's seat at the front of the ship.

“Joker?” Shepard began.

“Yeah, commander?”

“Set course for the Horsehead Nebula. We're headed to Tartarus-1.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

* * *

 

The little boy's mouth gaped in awe as he marvelled at the vastness of the Citadel. It was his first visit there ever, and he found, with no small amount of amazement, that it was everything his mother and father had told him about – and more.

His father had convinced his mother to allow him to tag along on one of their business trips, in celebration of the boy's seventh birthday. Having never gone offworld before, this was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream of his. The boy had carried with him a distinctly-passionate drive to see the galaxy for as long as either of his parents could recall, and it was only now that this drive was taking him somewhere.

Perhaps it was the fact that both of his parents worked with the Alliance. The boy was never entirely aware of exactly what roles his parents played, and he didn't need to be. All he really needed to know was that they travelled across the great expanse of the cosmos, encountering wonders the likes of which a simple colony kid could never even comprehend _a priori_. His parents, therefore, had proven his greatest role-models, and he was very close to them, even by the standards of a boy his age. He would always close his eyes at night and dream about his parents and their dealings with beings of other species, imagining their heroic efforts to better humanity's reputation and lend a helping hand wherever necessary.

They were little short of gods, in his eyes.

Nevertheless, the boy possessed a curious wanderlust typical of those his age, and as such, he could hardly stay in one place for long. Even the windows were impressive to him, as shiny and immaculate as they appeared. But as interesting as the furnishings of the venerable space station were, they were nothing compared to the people he saw.

The hustle and bustle of the lively sanctuary was punctuated by little _whoa_ s and _wow_ s every few seconds, though few noticed them. Not ever a truly hyperactive boy, he was nonetheless fascinated greatly as he walked cautiously through the Embassies, an air of budding intellectualism pervading every step. There were all sorts of people here: some were big and burly, with hide that reminded him of the elephants he saw on nature vids back at the colony (and boy, did they talk funny!); some were scrawny, with big eyes and a mouth to match, always thinking two steps ahead of everyone else; some even reminded him of jellyfish – those people seemed to be especially polite, and for a moment he envisioned a whole crowd of them gathered around a table having a tea party.

That made him giggle.

Meanwhile, the boy's parents stayed a fair distance away, careful to keep an eye on him whilst not, as his father might say, “cramping his style”. They smiled together as they observed their little boy eager to make new friends, regardless of their species. It was that kind of respect and innocuous curiosity which gave them hope for the future. These past seven years had undoubtedly been the very best of their lives together so far, and they were more-than-happy to grant their son his birthday wish, now that he was old enough.

“Morgan!” A turian called out enthusiastically from a few metres away, waving to them to make his presence known.

“Tybus?” The mother called back, greeting her old friend with, “It's been awhile!”

“That it has,” the C-Sec officer affirmed. “Too long. We should really get together soon and –”

“Hey, easy there, casanova,” The father interjected, “She's taken now, remember?”

“Then you should have nothing to worry about, Oc,” Tybus grinned wryly, a trace glint in his eyes.

“Right. Well,” Octavian began, “in any case, we have some important –”

Their conversation was immediately stopped in its tracks by Morgan's worried expression.

“What is it?” Tybus asked, alarmed.

“I... I can't find our son! Octavian, I can't find him!”

Even as he asked his wife not to panic, his face grew several shades paler. She was right – their offspring was nowhere to be found.

Little to their knowledge, the boy had wandered off onto a nearby elevator, and now found himself in the middle of a massive space, home in equal measure to lush green trees, flowing streams, and spotlessly-white architecture. While the view was indeed spectacular, the child was far too caught up in the revelation that he had now lost track of his parents. For what was quite literally the first time in his life, he was alone.

It scared him, and he began to cry out for them.

“Mommy? _Daddy?_ ” The boy cried, his brow furrowing further with every passing second.

“ _Mommy? Daddy? Where are you?_ ” The boy's eyes were welling up now, and he was truly terrified that he might never see his parents again.

Several metres away, meanwhile, a single asari in a fine red and white dress was admiring the view from the main bridge on the Presidium. As she gazed at the glistening water which lay before her, she took in the implications presented by such grandiose architectural genius. As per usual, she found herself totally caught up in the moment, and was only jostled out of it by the repeated (and increasingly-fearful) cries of a young boy. Turning around with great alarm – such situations were not exactly commonplace aboard the Citadel – she located the source of the tearful clamouring almost immediately.

Walking up to the boy, she found that his crying lessened almost immediately. Though she thought this a tad strange, she figured it best to get straight to the point.

Kneeling down to his level, the asari began in a comforting tone, “What's the matter, little boy?”

Sniffing and gulping back the lump in his throat, the boy replied, “I can't find my parents!”

Her face showing her worry and concern for the child, she held out a hand to him as she offered, “Come on. We'll find them.”

Normally, the boy would have hesitated to take the hand of a total stranger, as per what his parents had taught him. However, he was too panicked at the moment to care. Not only that, but he had never seen anyone like this woman before; not only was he curious about her, being almost-supernaturally beautiful and possessing a bright-purple skin tone dotted with elaborate facial markings, but he also felt strangely comfortable around her. It was as if the woman radiated warmth and caring, along with a great wisdom which seemed limitless. All in all, the boy felt instantly alright with taking the woman's hand, and he did so.

As the two began walking, the asari asked, “So, where did you last see them?”

“We were in that big place where all those people from different species meet to talk. That's where mommy and daddy work, I think.”

Puzzling for a second, she soon caught on. “You mean the Embassies?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“We'd better go this way, then. Follow me,” the asari instructed, still maintaining a tone of honest tenderness.

As the boy and the asari walked into the nearby elevator, the boy felt inclined to speak his mind – partly to thank the woman for her help, and partly because he thought it was simply the polite thing to do.

“Y'know, lady... you're really pretty.” The boy commented, looking up at the asari and smiling weakly.

The asari blushed slightly, then grinned as she replied, “Thank you, little boy.”

“You don't have to call me, that, you know,” the boy pointed out. “My name is –”

They were interrupted in their conversation by the sudden opening of the elevator doors. They had arrived at the Embassies, and the boy was instantly distracted by the realization that this was, in fact, the correct floor.

“This is the place!” The child exclaimed, full of excitement.

He only needed to look around for a few moments before he noticed his parents, combing the premises feverishly for him, as well as a few other people who had joined the search.

“ _And there they are!_ ” He continued, rushing immediately towards them and tripping once or twice along the way.

His mother turned around at the sound of his voice, and his father followed right after. As the boy leapt into his mother's embrace, the asari, still getting off the elevator, smiled a warm smile, happy that she had done some good.

“Oh, where have you been? I was so worried!” Morgan spoke, holding her son close.

Wresting himself from her, the boy replied, “I got lost, but this lady helped me!”

Octavian and Morgan both looked in the direction in which their son was pointing, and got to their feet to thank the asari personally. Now clutching the child's hand with all her might, Morgan was the first to thank her.

“Thank you, Vedina. If you hadn't shown up when you did –”

“Don't mention it,” the asari replied, “It was no trouble at all.” Looking down at the boy, she continued, “You have quite a smart kid, here, Morgan. And he's quite the ladies' man, too,” she finished with a wink in his direction.

“Wait,” the boy assessed, looking squarely at his mother, “You mean... you _know_ her?”

“Yes, honey,” Morgan replied, smiling, “We've been close friends for years now. She, too, works at the Embassies. She's what you call a 'dignitary', like us.”

Mouth agape with wonder again, the boy merely exclaimed, “That's so _cool!_ ”

Still ecstatic over the resolved situation, the boy completely let go of his inhibitions and asked Vedina, “So, what species are you, lady?”

Though Morgan and Octavian both looked mortified, Vedina merely chuckled and kneeled again to his level, replying, “I'm an asari.”

“'Asari'...” the boy repeated with curiosity and revelation.

“Well, Vedina,” Morgan spoke, “We'd best be off. There's a lot to still get done, and I think this little guy's had enough adventures for one day.”

“Of course, Morgan,” Vedina assured, nodding. “I'll let you both get back to your work. I should get back to it, as well. I have enough paperwork sitting at my desk right now to choke a Thresher Maw.”

Looking one last time at the boy, she stated with a grin, “And maybe someday you can finish telling me your name.”

Vedina turned and walked away, leaving the boy and his parents. The child's thoughts were still preoccupied, however, with the astounding experience he had just undergone.

“'Asari'...”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“You've got to help me! They're on to me... I know they are!” Boris Arnold's panicked voice squeaked as he spoke to his partner via omni-tool.

“You had a very simple job, Mr. Arnold,” the man on the other end began, speaking in a distinctive drawl which stopped somewhere between condescension and annoyance, with no particular accent. “I would continue helping your grandfather obscure your pitiful inadequacy, despite my better judgement... but _only_ if you kept getting me the information I _need._ I never said _anything_ about pulling your liquor-drowned posterior out of the flames.”

“I know, _I know!_ ” Arnold protested, shaking. “But you should've _heard_ that suit-rat's voice when she –”

“First off,” the man interjected with mounting anger, “do _not_ employ that name in my presence. They are quarians, and they deserve our respect. Our admiration. Our... fascination.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, already,” Arnold snapped. “You think aliens are better than us. I get it. You just _love_ them, don't you? That's why –”

“I suggest you go no further, Mr. Arnold,” the man interjected again, this time in a threatening tone. “This is not the most secure line you could have chosen to contact me with, and it is neither the time nor the place to discuss my ideology. That is none of your business. You work under me, not with me. Do you understand?”

“Look, right now, I'm trying to save my own ass!”

The man scoffed, then said with an air of pompous dismissal, “More like you're trying to make _me_ save it.”

“I messed up, alright? I don't even know how the hell it happened! And if anything, _you're_ to blame for not covering me enough!”

The man was now glaring with copious distaste, boiling mad at the idea that this spineless, honourless parasite was daring to shirk his rightful role and _demand_ assistance. Nevertheless, he was loath to admit that he needed persistent access to what Arnold could get for him.

“I will aid you this one time, Mr. Arnold. But you had better not blunder again – or I may just need to get rid of some dead weight.”

Arnold gulped, and there was sincere fear in his eyes. The person Arnold was supplying information to was _not_ to be messed with. That was for certain. It took serious guts to bail out on the Alliance and defect to another species' government – especially in the middle of a galactic war. Not only that, but Arnold was aware that this man was singularly focused on his overall objective – the basics of which he had been subjected to during his initial recruitment into the operation – to the point of zealous obsession. There was no way in hell he was about to allow an underling to live if it was clear said underling would only jeopardize the man's cover.

“A-alright,” the drunkard stammered, stomach feeling uneasy from a combination of a shock-induced hangover and the stress of the present conversation, “When will you pick me up?”

“You're still at Tartarus, I trust?”

“Yeah.”

“Give me a few minutes. Meet me at the northernmost docking area. Out.”

With that, the man's hologram dissipated, leaving Arnold alone on a deserted prison satellite with only an extremely-vague estimate of when he was going to be saved.

And people were coming for him.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, commander,” Joker stated over the intercom, “We're almost there.”

“Traynor. Tell Garrus and EDI to get ready for the mission.”

“Aye-aye, commander,” Traynor replied, already on it.

Within a couple of minutes, Garrus and EDI had made their way to the main bridge of the Normandy, reporting efficiently, as usual.

“Alright,” Shepard began. “We are about to set foot on a derelict prison satellite. Keep in mind that Tartarus was known for being loaded to the teeth with security countermeasures. A lot of those will have become nonfunctional by now, but some are bound to be active.”

“It is also possible that these countermeasures may be functioning erratically. We should keep our eyes open.” EDI observed in her usual analytical tone.

“Exactly. Now, since the building was abandoned, and has since fallen into disrepair, I wouldn't be surprised if it had a few... structural weaknesses. We should ready for anything in our apprehension of the target. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Garrus nodded.

“Absolutely,” EDI noted.

“Good. Cortez?” Shepard turned her attention to her earpiece, having already attired herself in full body armour.

“Yeah, commander?” the shuttle pilot acknowledged, promptly as ever.

“We need to take the shuttle down to the satellite's surface.”

“Aye-aye, ma'am. I'll have her ready in no time.”

It was indeed only a few minutes before Shepard and company had landed on the surface of Tartarus-1. The Kodiak docked in the nearest available hangar that could be found – one located near the top of the cylindrical satellite. As soon as the commander walked out from the shuttle's extended catwalk, however, she could see that the place was going to be difficult to navigate, at best.

She was rather surprised at the rundown spectacle of neglect she was currently witnessing – even for two-and-a-half years' worth of total abandonment, this was a stretch – and worse still was the state of the facility's lighting fixtures. Flickering and sparse, they tried their best to illuminate the decay of the modern relic as it slowly fell apart at the seams, almost as if it were a monument to decomposition. Hackett may have mentioned that it would be like this, but it had proved hard to imagine the rusted railings and rickety tile floors which comprised this unsettling taste of things to come. It was, overall, a vastly uninviting place, and she sincerely hoped she could get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Alright,” Shepard spoke in an instinctively hushed manner. “We need to focus. We have no idea where Arnold is right now. EDI, do you have any suggestions?”

“I would assume,” EDI began with the lightning-fast efficiency afforded to her by her quantum processor, “that Arnold is not going to be staying here long. With that in mind, he must be attempting to find a way off this satellite. We are already here, and there is only one other place in this facility where he could attain transporation.”

“Where's that?”

“There is a secondary docking bay, located directly across from this one. It is on the opposite end of the station, however, meaning that we will need to traverse a reasonable portion of the facility on-foot to get there.”

Shepard frowned, realizing the threat this posed to the efficiency of the mission. Regardless, she asserted, “Well, it's better than nothing. Where are we headed to first?”

“The quickest route is down this hallway,” EDI began, pointing to a corridor on the team's right side.

“Lead on,” the commander replied as she and Garrus followed the unshackled AI.

The hallway was barren with darkness, prompting the trio to turn on the flashlights mounted on their weapons. The atmosphere was only made more imposing by the stifling shroud of shadow which draped their path. Shepard found it difficult to see where it was she was going, even with the added illumination. She was thankful that EDI didn't have to worry about such things – at least one of them knew where they were headed.

They turned several more lefts and rights, until the darkness became so entrenched that it was impossible for even EDI to go any further. It was obvious to all three of them that they were now in the core of the facility, as there was now essentially no illumination provided by any other nearby sector.

“I appear to have misjudged our route,” EDI observed, re-assessing her plans in mere moments. “We should head around the perimeter of the building.”

Shepard sighed in frustration at the lack of progress in this mission – they were running on a time limit. Not only that, but they had no way of knowing how long they had. She was just about to order the squad to move out double-time when she heard the sound of soft footsteps behind them.

“Did you hear that?” Garrus asked, alert to the sound himself.

“Yeah,” Shepard responded. “Garrus, go check it out.”

“Understood,” the blue-armoured turian affirmed as he began walking over to the source of the sound, mere metres away.

What came next was a loud thud, followed by a grunt, and frenzied footsteps.

“Garrus! What happened?” Shepard exclaimed, making her way to his location.

“I'm not entirely sure,” Garrus began, “but I think we've found our guy.”

As Garrus picked himself up off the ground, Shepard shouted, “Alright! Let's move!”

The squad picked up the pursuit – they were back out in a reasonably-illuminated area now – and relentlessly followed the sound of the footsteps. Within perhaps two dozen metres or so, they had reached an area well-lit enough to make out the shape of the man they were pursuing. There was no doubt about it – it was Arnold.

“That's him!” Shepard exclaimed, still sprinting ceaselessly toward the target.

The commander had, in fact, closed the distance between her and Arnold rather quickly. She noticed, however, that Arnold was about to punch a nearby switch as he was fleeing, and it only took Shepard a split-second to understand what that meant.

“Gate!” She shouted, unsure at this point as to how far behind her squad was.

Just as the shutters came slamming down, Shepard rolled underneath them, barely taking a moment to get back on her feet before continuing her protracted sprint with expert balance and skill. Garrus and EDI, however, were not so lucky, as they had fallen far behind the commander. The gate came down before they could do anything about it, and they were forced to abruptly halt their pursuit.

“I should be able to open this gate,” EDI began, already searching for a way to do so.

“I think I have a better idea,” Garrus proposed as he pointed to a locked door to their immediate left.

“Garrus, I will still have to bypass the lock.”

“Yeah, but it's better if we can flank him from the side and cut him off. There's no way we'd catch up to him now by following Shepard.”

“I see.” EDI assessed, walking briskly to the door and beginning the bypass.

Meanwhile, Shepard was still running after Arnold. Even she, however, was beginning to feel tired by this point, and she wondered for how much longer she would be able to keep this up.

“Garrus! EDI! Where the hell are you?” Shepard barked into her earpiece.

“We got stopped by the gate. We're trying to cut him off from the side,” Garrus replied.

“Well, get over here as soon as possible! I need all the help I can get!”

“Affirmative.”

Just then, the telltale sound of a door opening informed Garrus that EDI had just finished the bypass. Sure enough, EDI beckoned to Garrus, calling, “Over here!”

Garrus immediately began sprinting towards the doorway, with EDI right behind him. They managed to clamber through a few rooms, breaching the divide between the staff area and the outer perimeter in the process, before a new threat presented itself. The turian sharpshooter was more focused on the mission than on his footing, and he noticed too late the strange, disc-shaped object he had just stepped on.

A large explosion rang out, reverberating off the walls of the small room and sending Garrus flying backwards against a nearby wall with a scream. EDI rushed over to her squadmate, kneeling by him and asking, “Garrus! Are you alright?”

Groggily, and trying to fight his enroaching unconsciousness, he replied, “Y-yeah.” Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he stumbled to his feet, continuing, “It just broke through my shields. I should be fine. Let's go!”

“Watch your step,” EDI warned in what Garrus would have otherwise assumed was a sarcastic tone.

“You know,” Garrus stated into his earpiece, sprinting more cautiously now, “I'm surprised this guy didn't try to kill me back there.”

“I'm not,” a panting Shepard replied. “He's not a _real_ soldier, remember? He probably figured he couldn't take any of us on in a fair fight. He's pretty slippery, though. I still can't get a clear shot.”

“Are you al–”

“I'm fine, Garrus. Just get over here as soon as you can.”

“We're almost there, Shepard.”

“So am I.”

The commander had, in fact, managed to pursue an increasingly-panicked Arnold to the hangar at which he was apparently going to be extracted from the satellite. However, there was nothing there as of yet, and Arnold apparently noticed this fact. In total exhaustion, the incompetent officer shouted: “Ah... _dammit!_ Where the hell _are_ you?”

It was only a moment before his question was answered, as an impressive, jet-black shuttle started to land at the far end of the hangar. “Finally!” Arnold remarked with a hint of relief, “It's about time!”

Noticing this development with dread, Shepard attempted to lock her M-96 Mattock assault rifle on Arnold's leg, but found her aim was far too shaky from extreme exhaustion to make the shot. Just in time, however, Garrus and EDI arrived behind her. Running until he was about thirty metres away from Arnold, Garrus yelled, “Shepard! Get down!”

Instinctively, Shepard dove to the ground instantly, as Garrus kneeled on one knee, drawing his Mantis sniper rifle and taking careful aim at the same leg Shepard had attempted to incapacitate only moments previously. The gifted sniper managed to land the shot, causing a still-fleeing Arnold to yelp in agony. For a second or two, Shepard and company were relieved to see Arnold collapse to the ground. However, this relief soon gave way to morbid awe as the whimpering quarry somehow rose to his feet and began limping at an impressive pace towards the shuttle.

“Damn! He may not be much of a soldier,” Garrus shouted to Shepard, “but he sure as hell has some fight in him!”

“I know,” Shepard called back, still panting heavily, “but that's just because he's on his last legs!”

Their observations were soon made even more dreadful by the sight of six asari commandos purposefully sprinting out from the shuttle's catwalk and setting up a covering line outside.

The barrage of bullets began immediately, causing Shepard to curse before quickly digging into cover behind a nearby terminal. A quick glance at her squadmates told her that Garrus and EDI had done the same.

Arnold, however, was taken completely by surprise by the seemingly-reckless spraying of fire which the commandos were presently employing; he fell to the ground, covering his head and shouting, “Hey! Be careful! Don't shoot _me!_ ”

Belly-crawling under the covering fire of the commandos, Arnold sluggishly dragged his wounded self to the shuttle, two of the commandos temporarily moving out of the way so he could get inside. Shepard used this tiny window of time to peek out at the small ship (which she was now only a dozen-or-so metres away from). She saw a tall, human male in a long brown trenchcoat aiding Arnold onto the ship with a hint of gruffness. Though she couldn't quite make out the man's face due to it being partially concealed by the man's collar, she could see that the man had brown hair and reasonably-pale skin.

It was Jonathan Teague.

Covering fire resumed in full force but a moment later, causing Shepard to quickly duck back into cover.

“Garrus! It's him! It's Teague!” Shepard informed Garrus.

“Are you sure?” Garrus replied with a hint of surprise over the deafening din of fully-automatic fire.

“Positive!”

Before either of them could figure out what to do with this information, however, the fire suddenly began to subside. The squad of asari commandos backstepped into the craft one-by-one, with those still remaining outside maintaining fire to cover their teammates. Within seconds, they had retreated into the shuttle, and it began to take off.

Wasting no time, Garrus, EDI, and Shepard all rose from cover and ran to the departing craft. It was too late, and they all knew it. They stood there for a moment, taking in everything that they had just seen.

“Dammit!” Shepard shouted in frustration, “We almost had him!”

Garrus, too, looked angry, though perhaps more with himself than with anyone else.

After a few moments of Shepard's scowling and Garrus' brooding, however, EDI interjected.

“Shepard, it may interest you to know that this mission was not exclusively a failure.”

“Gee, thanks, EDI,” Shepard muttered sarcastically, still staring in disbelief at the now-empty landing pad which lay before her, “as long as it wasn't _all_ a complete blunder.”

“She's right,” Garrus piped up.

EDI continued, “For example, we now know the identity of the defector.”

“Yeah,” Shepard conceded with a sigh, “and I was right. It's Teague.”

“But,” Garrus provided, “that also means that Liara was right. Arnold _was_ working for the defector. And it's obvious that we probably wouldn't have been able to track him down without baiting him with Arnold. Even the most-clandestine traitor needs their contacts.”

Shepard nodded, feeling slightly better, but still not convinced of the success of their mission.

“Also,” EDI posited, “we are now aware that the asari government is interested in protecting this defector to such a degree that they would send their most elite agents to defend him and his interests.”

“Exactly,” Garrus added, having come to the same conclusion. “That says a lot. That means this goes a lot deeper than we had first assumed. If they're willing to get their hands dirty and risk political scandal over this Teague guy, he must be doing something important for them. He _has_ to be the one we're looking for.”

Shepard took a few minutes to absorb the revelations that the squad had just laid out on the table. This mission had indeed answered a lot of questions, but there was still one left to answer.

_Why would the asari risk scandal now, of all times?_ Shepard considered.

Holding this important query in mind, Shepard activated her earpiece once more, contacting the pilot of their own shuttle.

“Cortez?”

“Yes, commander?”

“I need you to pick us up at the northern hangar.”

“Understood, ma'am. On my way.”

 

* * *

 

“Thanks, man,” a wounded Boris Arnold spoke weakly, clutching his bloodied leg. “You really came through for me there. Now, do you think you could patch me up?”

Teague was staring into his lap vacantly, as if lost in thought. His icy, enigmatic eyes lit up, however, at Arnold's comment, and he smiled slightly.

Looking up and making unnervingly-direct eye contact, the sophisticated-looking man replied, “Well, Mr. Arnold, I don't think you'll need any patching up.”

“What? What the hell do you mean? I just had a sniper bullet driven through my –”

A look of sudden horror adorning his face, Arnold caught on to what Teague was implying.

“Wh... no! No, you –”

“You have been a grudging necessity in my plans for quite some time, Mr. Arnold, and I must thank you for your participation.”

“No! You can't!”

Unfazed, Teague continued, “But this incident a few minutes ago taught me that I can no longer depend on the liability of reckless inferiors.”

“ _Please!_ ” Arnold begged, his eyes beginning to tear up.

Still Teague soldiered on, totally unperturbed and, in fact, cracking his knuckles.

“I received word some minutes before I came to get you that the mole who is presently serving as my cover is a very powerful information broker.”

“ _I helped you! I helped you! You can't do this to me!_ ” Arnold attempted to get to his feet, but two of the asari commandos took him by the arms and sat him back down, causing him to look even more fearful than before.

“So, you see, Mr. Arnold,” Teague said with an odd grin, taking a pistol from his waist holster and cocking it, “ _I no longer need you._ ”

“Then why did you _bring me here?_ They would have killed me for you!”

“No, Mr. Arnold,” Teague said, his voice now suddenly changing to a cold, arrogant tone, “they would have _incapacitated_ you. Then, they would have questioned you.” Taking his pistol and waving it around in a dismissive gesture, he continued, “And I am far from stupid enough to assume you are sufficiently dedicated to my cause to take your secrets with you to your grave.”

Teague proceeded to press his pistol directly against Arnold's forehead, the rest of his body still sitting casually despite the gravitas of the situation. “I guess I'll just need to send you to it early.”

“ _Please... please, don't do this..._ ” Arnold implored with all his emotion, tears streaming down his face.

“Goodbye, Mr. Arnold.”

A loud blast shot forth from the pistol's barrel, hurtling through the front of Arnold's skull and out the other end. As the back of his seat became painted at lightning speed with a massive quantity of blood, Arnold's head recoiled against it, and his corpse collapsed limply onto the floor of the shuttle immediately thereafter.

Even a few of the commandos looked clearly disturbed by the coldness and total lack of remorse with which Teague had dispatched his victim, and they were taking great pains not to look at the body.

Teague himself, however, merely holstered his weapon, and proceeded to look out the window of the shuttle with the same grin he had shown only moments previously.

“A beautiful galaxy we live in, is it not?”

 

* * *

 

Liara T'Soni had been busily working in her office on the Normandy throughout the mission, seeking to bury herself in her work. She wanted desperately to keep her mind off of her agreement with the vice-councillor, but she found that every time she had almost broken free of such considerations, they came cascading back into her mind. It was making it hard for her to focus, but any work at all was better than constant self-torture.

She wasn't even rationalizing anything by this point – she had come to the conclusion that it was impossible to truly have made a “right” choice in this situation. Instead, she merely sifted through contacts, piecing inferences together and supplying information where it needed to be supplied. The fact that a lot of her resources were being diverted to the war effort didn't help her efforts to forget her predicament in the slightest.

Just then, however, she received a communication from Leydra Nancia, the vice-councillor, on her omni-tool. Answering the message immediately, she watched as the holographic image of the purple-skinned asari appeared.

“You weren't supposed to lead Shepard directly to Arnold, Dr. T'Soni.” Leydra spoke tersely. “Explain yourself.”

“I did precisely what you instructed me to do, vice-councillor,” Liara coldly asserted, having no great urge to speak with this woman any longer than necessary.

“Yes, but you did so in a very reckless way. We could have lost everything if it were not for those commandos that got shipped out to Teague. Not to mention that they shouldn't have needed to make their presence known in the first place. You're putting us all in a potentially-precarious position, Dr. T'Soni.”

“I did what I was told, vice-councillor. Perhaps you should be more specific in your demands next time.”

Leydra scoffed, and said, “No matter. We have... _overhauled_ the plan in light of this development, and now we can be certain that Teague will be able to go about his business unharmed.”

Liara was caught off-guard by this statement, and after a moment's hesitation, asked, “What?”

“This situation makes for a very promising testing ground for some new prototypical technology we've been working on,” Leydra explained, “and it's so top-secret that I can't inform you about it any further. Suffice it to say, you've actually made it easier for us to get rid of Shepard. I should thank you.”

Liara was speechless, merely staring at Leydra, who sneered slightly before continuing.

“Also, since you compromised Arnold's position,” she added, “Teague felt that his contact's incompetence made him too much of a liability. He wasn't aware of your place in diverting Shepard to such action, of course – hence why he blamed Arnold rather than anyone else – but that is largely moot. The point is, you are now Teague's prime informant. Have fun.”

Again, Liara found herself gawking in incredulity at the holographic likeness of the vice-councillor, who after a few seconds, disconnected without any proper farewell whatsoever.

Absolutely astounded by what she had just heard, she took it in as she stared.

She had tried to help Shepard by leading her to the defector's identity, whilst still upholding her end of the bargain.

And in doing so, she had only descended even deeper into her worst nightmare.

 

* * *

 

Shepard had called Garrus and EDI into the Starboard Observation room shortly after their mission on Tartarus-1 had drawn to a close. With the information that the squad had gathered thus far, it seemed pertinent to gather a proper meeting, so as to take stock of the situation.

“So,” Shepard began, sighing. “We now know the identity of the defector, and we know that the Asari Republics are going out of their way to protect him.”

“What we do _not_ yet know,” EDI spoke, “is where to find the defector.”

“Or why the asari would risk making this whole affair into a political scandal,” Garrus said. “After all, how important can Alliance intelligence really be to them, especially at a time like this?”

Shepard gazed at the ground, perched against a wall. She bore a sort of exhausted disappointment on her face, wondering why it was that, even now, when every advanced sentient species in the galaxy was facing certain extinction, there were still petty political struggles going on. She wondered why it was so hard for people to work together towards a common goal – especially with such a pressing incentive – and shook her head as her frustration began to give way to subdued resignation. Perhaps four years of stressing over the Reapers were finally starting to take their toll on her.

Garrus may have noticed the graveness of the commander's expression, for he added, “You know... there _is_ a third question we also have to answer.”

“Oh? What's that, Garrus?” Shepard asked quietly, looking up to face him.

“Well, we may know _who_ the defector is, but we still have no idea why he defected in the first place.”

“That's true.”

“Actually, Shepard,” EDI interjected matter-of-factly, “I believe I may have a theory as to Teague's motivations.”

“What is it?” asked Shepard, interested.

“Teague possesses an obsession with asari culture and history, correct?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“It seems possible to me that Teague may be basing his defection upon his love for the asari. Perhaps he views them as superior somehow – entitled to the information he is providing them with.”

“You mean like how Cerberus views humanity?” Garrus asked with a hint of cynicism.

“That would not be an incorrect analogy, Garrus.” EDI confirmed. “There are other possibilities I have deduced, as well – if you would like to hear them.”

“Go on,” Shepard allowed.

Nodding, EDI continued, “Well, for example, perhaps Teague is merely vengeful over the stripping of his dignitary status. This is unlikely, however, as it would not explain his notoriety for bending to the diplomatic will of other species. A more plausible alternative would be to speculate that Teague believes the asari are the best hope for engineering a solution to the Reaper cycles. It may, in fact, be a combination of any of these assumptions.”

Shepard and Garrus both nodded, taking a second to think about these conjectures.

The commander, in particular, thought about EDI's theories. She had never thought of the asari as being anything more than everyday people before. Shepard was attracted to Liara because of her intelligence and her compassion, not because of her species. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more she could understand why some people would regard them as being superior. They were, after all, the first of this cycle to achieve interstellar flight, and the first to discover the Citadel. They lived for an absurdly long amount of time compared to most other known species. They were natural diplomats, yet, perhaps almost paradoxically, also possessed the greatest soldiers in the galaxy (though the turians were technically superior in terms of overall fighting strength). They also possessed some of the galaxy's greatest scientific minds. All this, too, was to say nothing of the more superficial traits of their species, including their inherent grace and physical beauty.

Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more she was fascinated. Regardless, this did nothing to sway her own views, but it was like the old saying went – know your enemy.

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Garrus inquired, “So, do we know where to get information on Teague's whereabouts, Shepard?”

“The only person I can think of would be Liara. I'll talk to her in a few minutes.”

Garrus and EDI both nodded.

“Dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

The commander was certainly going to check with Liara to see if she had any information regarding Teague's whereabouts – after all, if anyone knew about that, it was the Shadow Broker – but she felt compelled to first report to Admiral Hackett. Normally, she would simply compile a mission report on her datapad and send it off. It was rare that she bothered the Admiral, and even more so during wartime. Despite this, however, she felt that the delicate nature of this mission practically demanded a personal, face-to-face conversation, almost as if to assure her superior officer further that Shepard was indeed dedicated to the mission.

She wondered if her anxiety with regards to this affair was mainly due to her lingering frustration over losing Arnold. While she knew that Hackett trusted her, even he was bound to have limits. Shepard had a reputation to maintain, and, though it may have just been her, she felt that the failure of the last deployment had put a significant dent in that otherwise-admirable track record.

As she made her way to the comm room after requesting that Traynor set up the conversation, she felt her stomach churn. Part of her resented the Admiral for sending her an additional strain on her sanity. Yet, the dutiful soldier within her instantly rejected this emotion, instead noting that there was, indeed, a reason why Hackett had chosen her – and her specifically – to do the job. That gave her a small bit of hope, though she was still anxious to get this mission over with so she could focus again on the bigger picture.

Her anxiety not so much being pushed out of her mind as being held back, Shepard approached the central projector in the comm room, where Hackett's likeness faded in.

“Commander,” Hackett began with a hint of concern, “You wanted to speak with me?”

Shepard replied, “Yes, sir. We believe we've uncovered the identity of the defector.”

Hesitating for a moment, Hackett bluntly inquired, “I see. Who are they?”

“The defector's name is Jonathan Teague, sir.”

Hackett's eyebrows flickered upwards in a tic of perceptive surprise.

“Sir?” Shepard inquired uneasily, noticing the change in facial expression.

“Are you sure, commander?”

“I'm as sure as I can possibly be, sir. We saw him extract Boris Arnold from Tartarus, and he had a team of asari commandos with him.”

Hackett sighed heavily in a rare outward exhibition of worry, stating, “Well. That certainly would make sense.”

“You're referring to Teague's obsession with the asari?”

“I am. But perhaps even 'obsession' would be an understatement. More like, 'total fixation'. The man is certifiable. At first, we thought he was simply sympathetic to other species' demands – not entirely without risk, but not without reward, either, provided he didn't go too far.”

“Can I assume he _did_ go too far, then, sir?”

“That would be correct, commander. As the years went on, he became less and less of a dignitary and more of a... perhaps 'thrall' would be the proper term. But that wasn't even the worst part. He eventually lost interest entirely in the affairs of every species bar the asari, meaning that he was neglecting his duties, as well. But you should have _seen_ how he dealt with the asari. He practically flung himself at their feet at every possible opportunity.”

“I'd say that fits our profile, alright.”

“I'm not finished yet, commander,” Hackett noted gruffly. “The worst part came after he had been stripped of his duties by an Alliance court. He wasn't just angry, commander – he was _psychotic._ He kept rambling on about how humanity was an insignificant blemish on the galaxy compared with nearly every other known race. He said that humanity was lucky that the asari even tolerated our existence, let alone treated us as equals.

“But it gets worse still,” Hackett continued as Shepard listened intently. “As soon as Teague noticed that he was about to be pacified by security, he bolted. Normally, we would have caught him easily. However, it appears that the order to relieve Teague of his diplomatic benefits had yet to take effect, and he managed to take a priority flight to the Citadel.”

“A priority flight... sir, do you mean –”

“Yes, commander. This all happened just before the Reapers hit Earth. He probably figured the attack would distract everyone from checking on their data security, because the first data thefts were noticed within a few hours. The problem was, he was right. No one was paying attention to small anomalies in data transactions – they were too busy coordinating defense systems and keeping communications online.”

“Does that mean, sir,” Shepard asked, hesitating for a second to wrap her head around this cascade of information, “that Teague had already started an arrangement with the asari by that point?”

“Not likely,” Hackett spoke dismissively. “Usually deals like this require a token of goodwill; otherwise, for all the other party knows, it could be an act of espionage. And like I said, commander, the first data thefts only started _after_ the Reaper offensive had begun.”

“He certainly didn't waste time finding a new employer, did he?” Shepard posited with cynicism.

“Indeed. However,” Hackett began as he placed his hands behind his back sternly, “this isn't why you asked to speak with me, is it, commander? What do you need?”

“Well, sir, Teague is also a very hard man to track down.”

“I see. Our resources are very strained between diverting forces to the Crucible and Earth. I can get some people to check into his whereabouts, but I can't promise anything at this point.”

“Understood, sir. Thank you,” Shepard spoke, saluting as per custom.

“Of course, commander. Hackett out.”

As Admiral Hackett's likeness disappeared from in front of her, Shepard readied herself, adjusting the sleeves of her uniform.

With resources as limited as they were right now, Shepard felt it even more imperative than before that she confer with Liara.

The woman she trusted the most.

 

* * *

 

James Vega had been brooding over the commander's decision to follow Liara's lead since the last deployment began. He was working out in his corner of the Shuttle Bay, same as always – yet, this time, there was a marked change in his demeanour as he did so. It was as if he were attempting to channel his frustrations into his normal exercise routine.

Cortez had just arrived back from the extraction, and he noticed Vega's irritation immediately.

“What's up with you, Mr. Vega?” Cortez asked, already getting back to work on the newly-docked Kodiak.

Getting back to his feet, Vega made his way over to the pilot, imploring, “Esteban! You're back from the mission already?”

“Yeah. I don't know everything that happened,” Cortez began, “but I know that our search for one guy ended up with us finding out who the _real_ target is.”

Taking this information into account, Vega immediately strode to the elevator, too focused on his course of action to even say goodbye to Cortez.

Riding the elevator to Deck 3 for one purpose and one purpose only, Vega walked with purpose to Liara's office before opening its door. Instantly, he spoke to the asari Shadow Broker, startling her significantly.

“So,” he stated, arms crossed, “I guess you aren't _all_ bad, after all, huh?”

“Vega!” Liara replied, still surprised as she got up from her seat, “Why are you here?”

“Just checking in on you... you know, making sure your conscience wasn't eating you alive.”

A dirty look from Liara suggested that it was, and that she was not altogether pleased with Vega's pursuit of the topic. Regardless, he carried on.

“After all, I can only imagine that, what with the commander trusting you with her life and whatnot, you'd naturally feel _terrible_ about –”

“ _Stop it._ ”

“Make me.” Vega incited, daring Liara with a cocky-yet-stern expression.

“I'm more than capable of doing so, Vega,” Liara threatened, her pose combative and her face sour. “Or do you not remember what I do for a living?”

“Oh,” Vega retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Making threats now, are we? Is that what you've lowered yourself to, now, Liara? Trying to off me, so that the commander doesn't find out about your 'arrangement' with the vice-councillor? Think about what you're saying!”

“I know exactly what I'm saying. It seems to me that _you_ don't understand what I'm –”

“You know what?” Vega exclaimed, his voice rising and his presence becoming more imposing, “Don't even try the 'badass Shadow Broker' act. It isn't fooling anybody, and frankly, it looks pathetic. I know you aren't capable of this, Liara. I know you can't actually bring yourself to do this.

“And maybe you _did_ try to help the commander a little bit on this mission,” the latino lieutenant continued, “but that doesn't suddenly mean you aren't to blame for this. It's time you fess up, Liara. Come clean. You know you can't do this to her – or anyone else on this ship, for that matter.”

At this point, Liara was too angry, too conflicted, to say anything. Her confliction manifested itself in her now-trembling body, trying desperately to maintain some façade of genuine anger despite being precariously close to breaking down entirely. Perhaps many people would have been driven to pity Liara and her unsolvable predicament, but James Vega was a man of honour and loyalty first. He had no time for pity – not when the person already knew what they were doing was wrong, and had the capacity to change things for the better – and his frustration merely escalated further upon witnessing Liara's state of emotional disrepair.

“You know what, Liara?” Vega pressured, walking even closer to Liara until he was perhaps a foot away from her, “Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you really _are_ capable of betraying the entire squad. Maybe you really _can_ get the commander killed without remorse.”

This last comment caused Liara's fists to clench, but Vega continued despite this.

“But if you can do that, Liara,” the officer declared, his ever-shrinking inhibitions causing him to now speak only inches from the Shadow Broker's face, “then you'd better realize that you're a traitor. A traitor to all the people who helped you when you needed it most. You're a deserter.”

Liara's rage was at a rarely-witnessed extreme now, and her unfathomably-indignant expression distracted Vega from the single sphere of biotic energy which was now materializing in her right hand.

“And you know what deserters are? They're _pathetic._ Worthless. Beyond reproach.”

“ _Stop it, Vega._ ”

The words were said again, but Vega turned around, snapped out of his trance by the horrifying revelation that they were not spoken by Liara this time.

They were spoken by Commander Shepard.

The commander had a tempestuous look on her face the likes of which Vega had never before been privy to. There was something venomous about it, and even he had trouble maintaining eye contact. Shepard's eyes were full of uncompromising fury, and her mouth was tightly stretched into a hateful frown.

“Commander, this isn't what it looks –”

“ _Be quiet._ ” Shepard growled with derision, the sheer power of her words prompting Vega to comply. Approaching Vega faster than he could uneasily backstep, the commander pressed her pointer finger into the man's chest with violent urgency. With intense wrath, she exclaimed, “I come over here to speak with Liara about possible leads, and the first thing I see is you getting in her face on the basis of nothing more than something you heard through a _closed_ _door?_ Do you have any idea how _ridiculous_ that is?”

As Shepard literally marched Vega into a corner, Liara remained completely silent, having recalled her biotic projectile as soon as she noticed Shepard. The two arguing, however, were too focused on their exchange of words to notice.

“”What's _ridiculous_ , commander,” Vega retorted, not letting himself be threatened, “is that you refuse to realize that this woman is marching you into an ambush just because she's your _girlfriend!_ ”

Shepard's eyebrows raised in outraged shock at the presumptuousness of this statement. It was not often that the commander was exposed to this sort of brazen insubordination, but somehow, she wasn't surprised that it was Vega who was perpetrating it right now.

Vega continued still, “Don't you think it's a bit strange that Liara's tip was the one that led us on a wild-goose chase, commander? Don't you think that someone as powerful as the Shadow Broker would be able to get us the right lead on the first try?”

“Nobody's perfect, Vega! It's _you_ who's been acting strange lately. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“I'm fine, Shepard,” the soldier shot back, losing all sense of formality in his anger. “I'm just trying to make sure that we don't all get slaughtered by that person standing over there.”

All it took was one more incensed glare at Liara from Vega for Shepard to finally explode with anger. There was too much at stake, both with this mission and the war at-large, and she didn't have the time or the patience for pointless bickering between members of her team – especially when it was being provoked without any real evidence.

Impulsively taking Vega by the scruff, the commander roared, “ _Listen up, and listen well, lieutenant! I've had just about enough of your bullshit! I have a war to win, and, as if that wasn't enough, I have to find this defector now, too! I don't have time for your insipid conspiracy theories! Do I make myself clear?”_

Vega was silent, withering.

“ _I have half a mind to kick you off my ship and straight into Alliance custody for promoting dissension within the crew!_ ”

Shepard let go of Vega's collar with a violent push, sending the now-submissive officer to the ground.

“In fact,” Shepard noted, regaining her composure, “I think that's _exactly_ what I'll do. Now get out of my sight.”

Vega did as he was told, getting to his feet without a single word uttered. A crushed expression permeated his face, but the commander hardly cared by this point.

Shepard stood gazing at the door for a few moments after Vega had left, as if to ensure he wouldn't come back. She then turned around to speak to Liara, who had a deeply-concerned look about her as she stared at the ground.

“What all did he say to you, Liara?” Shepard asked, touching Liara's left shoulder gently.

“It's... it's nothing, Shepard. Really, I'm alright. Thank you for asking.”

Still worried, Shepard conceded, “Well, if you say so.”

A few more moments of uncomfortable silence took place before Liara spoke, “I suppose you need some information on Teague, then, Shepard?”

“I do. I feel bad asking you after what just happened, but we need all the leads we can get.”

“Of course, Shepard. Don't feel bad; you had nothing to do with it.”

Shepard nodded warmly, and thanked Liara before turning to leave her office.

She froze, however, just as the door began to open in front of her, turning back around as if realizing something. Liara, too, froze as she was about to get back to her work, eyes wide at what had just slipped out of her mouth.

“Hey, Liara? How did you know we were going after Teague now?”

 

* * *

 

Five years after his first encounter with Vedina, the boy remained fascinated with the asari. He now found himself wandering the extranet from his bedroom in his family's new home on Elysium. Whereas his younger self idolized his parents, the boy now found strength in the legends of the asari. Highly-intellectual for his age, he honed his mind in imitation of asari scientists and diplomats, and sought ceaselessly to absorb as much of their culture as he possibly could.

Right now, he was poring over various historical articles detailing the asari war effort during the Krogan Rebellions. To be sure, their skillful – no, more like _masterful_ – use of espionage and wetwork was fascinating, and the boy was completely engrossed in his reading. His eyes filled with wonder and admiration as his mouth twisted unconsciously into a passionate smile, envisioning the described events as he went.

To be fair, the article actually dealt with each of the Council species' contributions; but the boy only had time for the asari side. Certainly, he respected the salarians and turians, and possessed no animosity towards them. After all, he reasoned, they too were obviously superior to humanity, having made great strides in level-headedness and science in the case of the former, and unified thought and military might in the case of the latter. Regardless, however, there was just something compelling about the asari – something captivating, almost mystical in nature – which wholly absorbed his attention. The boy, in his keen-mindedness, was fully aware that he was obsessed. He simply didn't care.

A voraciously-fast reader, the boy quickly finished the article, already moving on to another. However, upon checking the Galaxy News site for news related to the Asari Republics, something caught his eye, and he began reading it immediately.

It was news regarding one of the boy's most despised personal enemies. Radical “pro-human” groups were especially repulsive to the youth, as they seemed at once presumptuous and boorish to him. Lacking all refinement, diplomacy, or, most distressingly, submission to their rightful superiors, these hideous blights on the face of the galaxy held the laughable position that humanity actually had an innate entitlement to expand and ascend within the galactic community. More disturbingly, they seemed to believe that it was entirely correct to seek violence against the natural hierarchy of the galaxy, as if nature itself could bend to their stunted will. The very thought of such ungrateful malice made the boy's stomach turn, and his previously-prevailing smile morphed into a perverse frown, bursting with disgust and contempt.

Did they not understand that humanity was still highly ignorant of the workings of galactic politics? Primitive in their presumptions and preconceptions? Simply lucky that they were given an embassy on the Citadel last year? Honestly, humanity had little, if anything, unique to provide to society – and, in the boy's mind, the unproductive were utterly worthless. Furthermore, his species seemed embarrassingly fixated upon their own interests, to the point that other species greatly distrusted them for their lack of unconditional cooperation. No matter the issue, humanity always worried about “protecting Alliance sovereignty”, and “ensuring humanity's equality in galactic affairs”.

_You don't just suddenly get equal treatment,_ the boy thought as he continued reading. _You earn it. The Council should have rejected us all as soon as we discovered the Charon relay. We aren't even worth their time._

Increasingly horrified by the journalist's outline of this emerging political party (“Terra Firma”, or something pathetic like that), the boy completed his analysis thereof, the bitter expression not leaving his face.

Deciding that the only way for him to subdue this sudden bout of misanthropy was by turning his attention back to his research, the youth decided to do exactly this. After all, now that his family was away from the Citadel, there was no other way to confer with his idols. Of course, the planet he was presently stranded on against his will was known for a high diversity of species – despite being an Alliance planet – but the particular area in which they had made their new home was small and reasonably insular. This meant that everyday life was as cut off from the asari as possible, as well as from other non-human species.

The boy wasn't entirely surprised when his mother had announced plans to move to Elysium. He had been certain that they had grown uneasy regarding his preoccupation with the asari, and the famous planet was suitably remote as to segregate him from direct contact with them. He found his parents' actions to be highly ironic, however, considering their past line of work as dignitaries (more specifically working directly under Ambassador Goyle). Such apparent xenophobia, whilst being a mere reaction to the boy's fascination, was nonetheless amusing.

But try as they might, Octavian and Morgan could separate their son from asari, but they could not separate him from the extranet. As he wrapped up his early-morning, customarily sleep-deprived research session with a yawn, he turned his head to his right, pridefully observing the wall of his bedroom. Adorned with all manner of asari memorabilia, from a three-dimensional pyramidal sculpture of the Asari Republics crest to an artist's rendition of a commando in full regalia, it made him feel comforted just looking at it.

After a time, however, the boy snapped out of his trance, noticing that it was now time to get ready for the day. As he closed his bedroom door and made his way to the dining room, he observed the slapdash nature of the colonists' architecture his family was now housed in. The nearby capital, Illyria, as well as other major cities, were better-modernized, but small towns like the one his parents had sought refuge in were still old-fashioned. Houses were little more than single-floor systems of hallways and cube-shaped rooms, and were short on space during the best of times. They were packed together, too – though this never bothered the boy very much, as he generally kept to himself whenever possible. Regardless, he still chuckled at the distress his parents must have felt at the switch from comparably-lavish apartment life aboard the Citadel to claustrophobic pseudo-shanties. He didn't feel particularly remorseful, either; after all, they had it coming for attempting to dictate how the boy lived to such a radical degree.

The boy entered the dining room to complete silence. He and his father had weathered a massive shouting match the night before over the former's late-night extranet habits, and his mother was simply tired of dealing with the matter anymore. Many youth would feel awkward in such a situation; but the boy merely began his breakfast in the tranquil bath of his thoughts, jumping at the chance to ignore the idiotic babble of his parents.

Perhaps no more than fifteen minutes had passed before a knock came at the front door. Initially, the family ignored it completely, but a second, more urgent trio of knocks alerted them. Octavian and Morgan looked at eachother, alarmed, before the former walked with purpose to the door, opening it. The knocker had been an Alliance marine, one of the many stationed in the colony for the purposes of security.

“What is it?” Octavian asked, his hazel eyes displaying a persistent look of genuine concern.

“First Lieutenant Jason Denver, sir. I've been asked to escort your family to safety.”

“Safety?” Morgan asked as she walked up beside her husband, “What are you talking about?”

“We have a situation. A radical pro-human group known as 'Cerberus' has mounted a raid on this town, as well as a couple of others near Illyria. We assume they're trying to take the capital, but whatever the reason, I need to get you out of here.”

The mentioning of a radical pro-human group made the boy look up in interest from his meal, and he joined his parents at the door.

“Now come with me, please,” Jason asked, beckoning for the family to follow.

“Shouldn't we pack some things before we –” Octavian was cut off by Jason.

“There isn't any time. I got here as quickly as I could, but we have to go _now._ ”

Looking understandably troubled, Octavian and Morgan glanced at eachother for a moment before agreeing. Morgan looked down at the boy, telling him to come with them.

Other children might have protested the idea – especially considering that, in this case, the boy's eastern wall alone was probably worth well-over 5,000 credits – but this particular person was a utilitarian at heart, more than willing to part with his precious collection in the name of self-preservation. He agreed, albeit with one last longing glance in the direction of his room.

As soon as he was given the “okay”, Jason took off in a brisk walk away from the family, compelling them to follow. The businesslike gait of his walk betrayed a sense of worry over the worsening situation, and the family noticed that the rest of the colony had already emptied, as well. Combined with the melting snow which cloaked the ground, the ambience altogether was foreboding to say the least.

They had only made it a few metres when Morgan asked, “Why would Cerberus be attacking a small town like this one? Shouldn't they just go after the capital from the get-go?”

“Not if they plan to encircle it.” Jason replied concisely.

“But why even plan a raid on Elysium? It makes no sense!” Octavian protested.

“My guess is that they want to take the capital, if not the planet, as a sign of their strength. Obviously, that's a tall order, but think about it. Elysium is located in one of the most lawless areas of the known galaxy – the perfect cover. Not only that, but it's brimming with non-humans, despite being an Alliance world. That _has_ to rub them the wrong way. By taking the capital, they probably think they'll be able to show people the power of their ideas.”

The four continued along an increasingly-winding route, though always sticking to a path of some kind. It was probable that a Cerberus patrol was more likely to spot them that way, but it was better than inviting an ambush their way.

After a time, the family was abruptly halted in their tracks by Jason's signal. He took a few steps forward, surveying the scene. The path sloped into a descending incline, allowing for easy reconnaissance. What Jason saw, however, was anything but good.

“Dammit.”

“What is it?” Morgan asked.

“There's a small Cerberus squad patrolling up ahead. Even three or four people are enough to get us caught, though.”

“What do we do, then?” Octavian inquired. Normally, he would be hesitant to place so much trust in the hands of a total stranger. However, Octavian and his wife both had plenty of experience with the Alliance due to their past occupation, and it was unlikely that they'd be able to go it alone for very long.

After several seconds of thought, Jason eyed a small security outpost in the distance, tucked behind a thick blanket of trees.

“There,” he said as he pointed to the building. “That's where we go.”

Immediately, Jason began walking to the outpost, and again, the family followed suit. They made their way through the forested perimeter in admirable silence, and as soon as Jason opened the door, the three relatives ducked inside. Jason was right behind them.

“Alright,” Jason began, a tone of relief permeating his voice. “I need to go back out there and do a bit more recon; you know, check to see how long we can stay here for. You three should get yourselves to the room on the far side of the building. There's an exit there, but wait for me before you take it, alright?”

Octavian and Morgan looked at eachother worriedly, then down at their son. The boy, who had remained completely silent for all this time, seemed positively aloof despite the intensity of their situation. The two parents couldn't help but feel the familiar shroud of uncertainty haunt them as they observed him, but they decided to focus on the matter at hand. Besides – with their son's intelligence as high as it was, it was entirely to be expected that he would be so calm in such dire straits.

As Jason calmly made his way back out the door, Morgan took her son's hand. Octavian, Morgan, and the boy all walked quietly to the opposite end of the security outpost, until they arrived in the room their escort had described only a couple of minutes prior. Octavian was surprised upon examining the exit door Jason had referred to.

“What the hell?” Octavian remarked, observing the red holographic disc emblazoned over the door.

“It's locked?” Morgan asked, herself caught slightly off-guard.

“Apparently so,” Octavian replied, an equal mixture of frustration and confusion adorning his face.

“Well,” Morgan pointed out, sighing, “this _is_ a security building. One would only assume that it would be secure. I'm sure Jason will be able to bypass it once he comes back.”

“Yeah... you're probably right.”

The three persons stood with expressions of restless anxiety (save for their still-calm son) for perhaps five more minutes.

It was after this time had elapsed that the trio heard the sound of a door sliding open from the other side of the small building.

“That's got to be Jason!” Morgan exclaimed, her voice showcasing immense relief after several minutes of uninterrupted concern.

“Wait,” Octavian cautioned, holding out an arm to hold her back from meeting him. “Do you hear that?”

Morgan and her son both held a proverbial ear out for what Octavian was talking about. It only took the former a few moments to pick up on it, and she felt her stomach churn as her now-pale face filled with mortal dread.

They could certainly hear a pair of footsteps making its way through the area; that much was for certain. The problem was, they could also clearly hear another.

And another.

And still another.

In all, there were about four people now converging on their position, and their only exit was locked.

Trying not to panic, Morgan instantly turned to her son.

“You see that desk?” She spoke, pointing to a small, run-of-the-mill business desk on the far side of the room.

“Yes, mother.” The boy affirmed, a small hint of fear beginning to develop in his perceptive mind.

“I need you to go and duck under there for awhile, alright, sweetie?”

With that, Morgan kneeled down and kissed her son on the forehead before giving him a slight push in the direction in which he was supposed to go.

Dutifully, the boy sprinted behind the desk. Octavian and Morgan, meanwhile, awaited the four aggressors, who in only a few moments had gotten to the room of no return.

“So,” the boy heard Jason say, “We have you.”

“Why are you doing this, Jason?” Octavian asked, keeping an informal first-name basis in an attempt to employ his diplomatic skills.

“I've been with Cerberus for quite awhile,” Jason replied, “And I just so happened to have been stationed on Elysium. When I heard news of the attack, I couldn't resist bagging you two. High-ranking former Alliance dignitaries? That's quite the kill – especially since the attack's been called off. May as well get _something_ worth my while.”

A few seconds of silence followed; the boy soon came to the conclusion that Jason had noticed his absence.

“Wait... there were three of you a few moments ago,” Jason said with suspicion. “Where's your kid?”

“Go to hell,” the boy heard Morgan say.

“ _Where is he?_ ” Jason persisted, raising his voice.

A very subtle, barely-noticeable spattering sound suggested to the boy that Morgan, in defiance of the traitor apparently inches away from her, had spat in his face. Jason's resultant rage backed this assumption up nicely.

Roaring, Jason ordered, “He's got to be here somewhere! Find him!”

“You're not our commanding officer, Nolan,” one of the soldiers asserted, using Jason's apparent real name. “The attack's been aborted. We need to withdraw.”

“And besides,” another Cerberus operative observed, a female this time, “It isn't in our MO to kill children – least of all _human_ ones.”

Growling, “Jason” revised his orders, stating, “Fine. Just get them on their knees so we can get this over with.”

Footsteps indicated to the increasingly-terrified boy that the soldiers were preparing to follow Jason's orders. The sounds of his parents being forced to the ground affirmed as much, and, for a few moments, he considered barreling out from the desk and taking on the four Cerberus soldiers himself. However, his analytical mind reminded him that he was outnumbered, outgunned, and even outsized, so to speak. He stayed frozen in place, huddled under the desk, horrified beyond all pretense of calmness by what he was hearing.

In true Cerberus style, the operative formerly known as Jason didn't even allow Octavian and Morgan their last words. All was done in a few moments, with two deafening blasts of gunfire, followed by the sound of two masses crumpling to the floor.

The boy's mouth snapped open, and tears began to cascade silently down his cheeks. It took everything he had to not scream out in terror.

“Let's go,” the female soldier proposed.

The four soldiers left instantly, and after a final few moments of militaristic footsteps, the front door of the security outpost closed for the last time.

Despite this, the boy didn't move. He was scared to, for two reasons: firstly, out of fear that the four agents would return and kill him, as well; and secondly, out of the hope that, if he didn't move, maybe he'd wake up and find out that none of this had actually happened.

For what felt like an eternity (but was probably around ten minutes), the boy continued to stay huddled under the desk, as per his mother's last wishes.

Eventually, however, he shakily got up, and walked over to the site where the bodies of his former parents lay. The corpses were splayed out face-down due to the angular trajectory of the killing rounds as they penetrated their skulls. Instantly, the boy quickened his pace. He had no idea what he was doing at this point – he could have been completely silent, or he could have been wailing uncontrollably – due to the stupefying surreality of the nightmare he was experiencing. Whatever he was doing, he was in a detached state of mind, with only him and the cadavers of his parents occupying his world at this precise moment.

Though he was of course horrified over the death of his father, he instinctively turned over his mother first, waiting to see if, by some great miracle of fortune, she was somehow still alive.

What he saw was even more nightmarish than the murder itself.

Morgan's face was devoid of all expression. Her normally beautiful blue eyes were now bulging in a cold stare, fixed in no particular direction. Her smiling face was replaced by a morbid, unmoving frown. A single bullethole had entered through the top of her elegant hairline, decimating the scalp directly around it. Blood poured from the wound, but the blood caked all over her face from having laid facefirst in a pool of it was even more disfiguring. Morgan's face now resembled a horrifying death-mask, an already-dreadful spectacle made all the worse by the earth-shattering permanence of her sudden, violent passing.

As the body laid totally limp on the floor, responding to neither the boy's frenzied calls nor the cascading river of tearwater which flooded her face, the boy's own expression became something altogether more ineffable. A completely anarchic cacophony of emotions flickered across his face, incoherently traveling across the features thereof at lightning-speed. He was unable to think. To feel. To understand.

He was unable to do anything but look and stammer at the shattered being which was once his mother.

After a few more minutes of this, he began to think perhaps more coherently again.

His thoughts, however, were anything but normal.

Ideas raced through his mind, but they all came back to one principal concept. Why did this happen? Why were four humans so hell-bent on mercilessly executing two other humans? More bizarrely, why would a group so dedicated to human supremacy place so little value on human life in achieving its aims? It was inconceivable to the boy that there could be any reason which was exclusive to the group; after all, they were human as much as his parents were. Thus, the reason had to lay in the basic fundamentals of humankind itself.

It made sense to him. Humans always were putting their own interests first. Always were thinking in wholly irrational ways, and shunning altruism in favour of the ego and its own. Many philosophers throughout the history of the boy's incorrigible species had romanticized the illogical nature thereof, saying it was some great human virtue – something which made them who they were.

But where was the humanity in something like this?

As the boy looked at his hands, he saw they were mired in the blood of his mother's corpse. His knees and shins were, too, as he had been unknowingly kneeling in a pool of arterial fluid the entire time. He got to his feet and stared long and hard at the red stains on his clothes and fists. Was this not the blood of his entire species? His burden to bear by means of his being human? His embarrassment? A legacy of inferiority and pointless violence?

He vibrated with anger as he stared back down at the bodies of his parents. Part of him wanted to turn his father over, too, but he decided against it. His stomach couldn't take much more.

The boy reviled his species. Whereas before he was merely skeptical of its viability on the galactic stage, he now actively despised it. He was ashamed of his humanity. He thought of the turians, with their nobility and honour; the salarians, with their quick thinking and scientific capability; and, most of all, the asari, with their diplomacy and grace. What did humans have to offer? Only pain, loss, and self-annihilation.

He didn't know what he was going to do at this point.

He didn't know where he was going to go now.

But he knew that he was going to make a name for himself, and that, when he did so, no human alive would ever forget that name.

No human would forget the name of Jonathan Teague.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Teague was now 16, but even four years after witnessing the cold-blooded murder of his parents, the wounds had yet to heal. Luckily, he found out soon after the incident that his parents had left him a copious inheritance. Provided he stayed on Elysium, he could get himself a good education and begin to re-orient himself. This was precisely what he had been doing for the past few years, and after moving to Illyria to be around non-humans again, his outlook became somewhat more stable, if not more normal, _per se_. 

As it stood presently, he was an upstanding student at the Political Academy of Illyria. The academy was a specialized university which centred itself, as the name would suggest, around the study of galactic politics. Everyone from diplomats to electoral politicians was trained here, and it was the go-to place for any Alliance citizen seeking to make a name for themselves in the political arena. However, the academy's student body was not wholly human in its composition; after all, Elysium was famous for possessing a highly species-diverse population, despite it being under Alliance control. This fascinating anomaly allowed for one of the academy's most innovative features: the cross-government foreign exchange program.

Many Alliance educational institutions were based around serving exclusively (or, at best, mostly) human students. However, most did not have the same prestige or advantageous location as the Political Academy of Illyria. The academy prided itself, therefore, on its comprehensive exchange student program, accepting students of all homeworlds and species to study as equals. It was hoped that by doing this, humanity might cast off the bad name its less-savoury elements had made for it, and show the rest of the galaxy that it truly cared about galactic politics.

It was, in fact, this surprisingly-conscientious philosophy which had made Teague eager to enrol – and, with the aid of his deceased parents' inheritance, he was able to pay the intense tuition fees required in order to do so.

However, almost as soon as he had begun his studies at the academy (which covered both high school and university-level classes, albeit on two separate campuses), he had found another reason to stay. And as Teague made his way down the hallways to his Political History class, he saw her again.

She was beautiful – that was an obvious, inescapable fact. Her light blue skin was bright and totally free of imperfections, and her bright red facial markings provided striking contrast to it. Tall by the standards of her species, she therefore possessed a slender, graceful frame that made it impossible for her to look unbecoming. Even with this fact, she dressed with excellent taste: today, she had chosen a dress in the traditional style of her people, deep purple with a single stripe of white down the centre. The silky fabric of this adornment glided with her body as it moved, creating an almost monarchic level of elegance, despite the fact that she was simply walking to the same destination as Teague.

Through various overheard tidbits and points gleaned from his acquaintances, Teague had uncovered a few things about this glorious woman. Firstly, she had only arrived from Thessia at the start of the semester, and was studying to become a negotiator. While her chosen occupation was a tad different from Teague's, for right now, their courses had aligned nicely. Her marks were stratospherically-high in all of her subjects, allowing her to easily make her way into the academy. Teague speculated that she chose Illyria due to her wish to learn about other species – specifically humans. While Teague certainly could not fathom the allure of human society, he ignored this oddity, instead focusing on attempting to speak with her. It had, of course, been difficult to do so at first, as he was not aware of her name before late last week. When he finally discovered the name, he was blown away by its poetic nature.

Sira Belyris. Something about that name just rolled effortlessly off the tongue. Unfortunately, he was not well-versed in asari naming conventions (yet), so he was at a loss as to its meaning. Whatever it was, however, he was certain that it suited her well. 

Of course, a man as intelligent as Teague was not so superficial as to only focus on a person's looks and name. In fact, his idea of romance was significantly more subdued than the disgustingly hormone-driven impulses of his fellow human students. He sought a meeting of minds first and foremost, a commonality of opinions tempered with mutual intellectual respect. He barely even considered sexual aspects at all, the closest to this being if he genuinely found someone's attire tasteful, or their body worthy of reverent awe. This was another reason why he was attracted to Sira: her intelligence. Not only were her statistics impressive, but she was a true innovator, quick on her feet and well-versed in the customs of other species. She had the mind not of a politician, but of a scientist – and it was this that Teague truly admired most. 

It only took a few minutes more before Sira and Teague had both entered the classroom. Even as the class started, Teague found himself looking forward to seeing Sira in action once again. She was essentially a walking encyclopedia for all intents and purposes, and with every fact recited, every inventive solution to a diplomatic issue proposed, he found himself more and more enamoured with her. It was no wonder to the teenaged human that the object of his affection was the highest-achieving student in the Academy – he felt flattered and proud that he was only one spot behind her greatness.

And yet, there was, throughout the class, no time to dwell on this. Though Teague didn't like to think he was susceptible to base romantic impulses, he had been subconsciously attempting to woo Sira by means of his high grade point average. After all, Sira was clearly a woman who valued intelligence and quick thinking – would she not value someone who possessed these traits? Would she not take notice of such an individual? Teague could only hope she would. Of course, there were other reasons – perhaps more practical in nature – for his hard work, and for his choice of occupation. Those, however, remained private, locked within his mind for the foreseeable future.

Throughout the class, he therefore concentrated on his studies, observing the responses of the other students to the teacher's questions (there was a lone turian who possessed a formidable knowledge of his people's military history). He had managed to reply admirably whenever the teacher asked him to solve a problem, granting him encouragement and a further sense of accomplishment. He noticed, however, that whenever he did so, Sira merely nodded in contemplation, absorbing his points (and those of the other students) with deep passion and acumen. Many would have been put out by this, but Teague merely respected Sira more for it. 

By the end of the class, Teague and Sira made their way out of the room along with the rest of their classmates, pooling out of the door and into the halls. It was time for lunch – and time for Teague to fret once more over his indecision.

Had Sira noticed Teague enough by now for him to be able to start a conversation? Was it worth it? What was he even going to say? Honestly, the thoughts running through his head were beginning to sound like one massive cliché, like something out of an old teen romance vid. Regardless, he knew that he needed to at least foster conversation – that way, he would be able to secure a foothold, and thereby, keep his options open. 

Even in matters of love, Teague was prodigiously analytical.

As he reached the cafeteria, Teague looked around for any sign of Sira. After perhaps ten seconds of scanning (earning a few uncomfortable looks from some of his fellow students in the process), he managed to locate her. To his surprise, she was sitting alone. He supposed, however, that it shouldn't have been so shocking – after all, she appeared to be, by all accounts, a highly-studious person, and that often implied a degree of asociality. This was just another trait which he held in common with her. 

He felt more sure of himself than ever. As he walked over to Sira, not even bothering to retrieve a lunch for himself, Teague sat across from her, and immediately began talking upon her noticing his arrival.

“I was greatly impressed by your performance in class earlier,” Teague began, a businesslike sincerity permeating his voice. “Your name is Sira, correct? Sira Belyris?”

“Yes, it is. How did you know?” Sira replied, caught slightly off-guard by his abrupt delivery.

“Word travels fast around here, as I'm sure you are aware,” Teague continued, “and your prowess is indeed considerable.”

“Thank you. I saw you in class, as well. If I'm not mistaken in my analysis, you are training to become... a diplomat, right?”

“That's correct! Perceptive, as always. But, ah!” Teague exclaimed, collecting himself, “I have not introduced myself to you! I am Jonathan. Jonathan Teague. It is a pleasure and a privilege to meet you, Sira.”

Grinning slightly, though with a nervous curve to her smile, she returned the young man's handshake and replied, “Well... thank you, Jonathan. It's good to meet you, as well...”

Teague's heart was beating heavily within his chest, and he felt a great sense of pride in having broken the ice with the bewitching asari. 

“But, you appear to have forgotten something.”

Instantly, his heart sank. Eager to repair the damage he must somehow have caused, he immediately asked, “What's that?”

“Well, unless you're on a hunger strike, I assume you require a meal, yes?”

A mixture of relief and embarrassment flooded Teague's face, and, to his annoyance, he was sure he was blushing. This notwithstanding, he agreed, “Ah, yes. You are correct. I shall be back in just a moment – thank you for pointing that out.”

Sira smiled slightly as Teague made his way over to the cafeteria line. She returned her attention to her datapad, deep in thought.

Within minutes, Teague had returned, and Sira invited him to sit across from her.

“So,” she began, smiling, “what shall we talk about, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I had something in mind,” Teague replied. “I was wondering if we could discuss the sociopolitical origins of the asari e-democratic system. While I have done exhaustive research into your people's history and culture, I admit that I am fuzzy on this particular concept. I'd very much like to learn from you, if I may be so bold as to ask.”

It was rare that people of other species – especially humans, for whatever reason – inquired about asari society. Sira knew this, and was greatly impressed by Teague's interest in her people's civilization. She could not help but be surprised that this young man was focused on intellectual exchange rather than more base affairs; as an asari in her early maiden stage, she'd had her share of cringe-inducing romantic advances from libido-crazed teenagers of all different species. However, there was something in his fascination which seemed sincere to her, and with great delight, she agreed.

The remainder of the lunch break was promising, to say the least.

 

* * *

 

It had been four months since Sira had agreed to date Jonathan Teague for the first time. It had happened only about a week after their first conversation in the academy cafeteria, and she had enthusiastically agreed to the affair. Jonathan seemed to her to be a nice man, and with an equally-nice mind, to boot. She had been correct, but, as the weeks and months had gone on, she had begun to notice strange things about him she had never noticed before.

Jonathan had been anything but a negative presence to her. He had been consistently faithful, was never abusive or over-angry, and, in fact, truly loved to speak with her. He was, in many ways, the perfect boyfriend, and at first, Sira was in a state of absolute bliss over their blossoming relationship. However, their constant proximity to one another meant that Sira now had an opportunity to see how her significant other dealt with members of his own species – and the results were unnerving, to say the least.

Around non-humans, Jonathan Teague was an exuberantly social person. He spoke to turians, salarians, and asari alike with great respect and esteem approaching that expressed by the hanar. He had made numerous good friends at the academy, and they were all equally respectful to him. The only sticking point was that none of these people were human.

Initially, Sira had thought this to be simply a coincidence; maybe Jonathan merely had yet to form a meaningful bond with members of his own species. Normally, such people would be the first ones a person would bond with; however, Jonathan was the sort of man to build bridges across minds, not across bodies – and therefore, Sira took this as just another sign of his intellectual excellence.

Increasingly, however, Sira noticed that her boyfriend took on an entirely different side whenever dealing with other humans. He was cold, bitter, and merciless. At one time, he had sent a female student away in tears after barraging her with a long string of scathing, condescending insults. All she had done was ask for directions to the restrooms.

On another occasion, Sira recalled, Jonathan had outright ignored a male student as he attempted to join a conversation between Teague and one of his salarian friends. Granted, the student probably shouldn't have tried to interrupt, but it was still odd how remarkably uncaring Jonathan was towards others of his own species.

The negotiator in her decided against any rash action. Rather, she felt the need to hear things from her boyfriend's point of view. As much as she was baffled and disarmed by his coldness towards humans, she did not want to end such an otherwise-satisfying relationship unless it was absolutely necessary to do so. With this in mind, she had arranged to meet Jonathan at his apartment. She found it odd that he lived away from his parents, but she supposed it wasn't an entirely-unheard of circumstance. He had given Sira a spare key for the unit, as he was planning on running a bit late. 

After about twenty minutes of waiting, Jonathan entered the house, carrying a bottle in his hand.

“Ah, Sira,” he began as he closed the front door. “I see you've made yourself at home! That's good!”

“Yes. Thank you for the key,” Sira replied, a serious tone in her voice. Suddenly noticing the bottle, she asked, “What's that?”

“Oh, this?” the youth responded. “This beauty is a bottle of grade-A turian brandy. It was difficult to get, believe me – but what matters is that I did. Figured it would make a nice refreshment.”

“I see... wait, Jonathan! Aren't you underage?” 

“Only in years, Sira. And besides, _you_ certainly aren't!” Teague joked with a wink.

Sira couldn't help but chuckle. This was the better side of Jonathan Teague. The side which was always in good humour. The side which always had good insights to bring to a conversation, and which revelled in intellectual sparring. 

The side that Sira had fallen in love with.

“Listen, Jonathan...” Sira started, making direct eye contact, “We need to talk.”

“Of course we do! That's why we arranged this meeting, right?”

“Yes. It's important.”

Slightly concerned, Teague assured, “Alright. Why don't you head out to the living room? I'll join you in a moment. Just let me pour the drinks. It's pretty strong stuff, apparently – how much would you like?”

“Just a small bit is fine, Jonathan.”

With that, Sira made her way out to the main room, sitting down on a surprisingly comfortable sofa. As she waited for her boyfriend to arrive with the refreshments, she observed the apartment and its furnishings. The ambience was that of an impoverished bachelor; only the bare necessities were in place. The paint on the walls was old, and the lighting low. She noticed with revelation that the sofa she was presently resting on was the only noticeable piece of furniture in the entire living room, save for a small table directly in front of it. Such were the signs of a life lived alone, in complete self-sufficiency.

Despite this, Sira felt that the place had an oddly-cozy atmosphere, as if a great deal of pride and passion permeated it for some reason. Sira pitied Teague in a way, due to the humble nature of his home; regardless, she reasoned that it took character and dedication to live in such conditions, especially since Teague could surely choose to live with his parents if he so wished. Being an exchange student, she knew what living alone was like. Again, Sira felt great respect for Teague, and for a moment, considered abandoning her plight altogether.

However, just as these ideas were flowing through her mind, she noticed a dimly-lit room in the far corner of the living space, its door only open a crack. It seemed to Sira that any door this close to being closed surely was intended to be so, and, as such, she walked over to the door to perform the deed. She figured that, earlier, Teague had been in a rush for whatever reason, and had mistakenly left the door open. As she peeked for a split second at what was within, however, she saw something that made her jaw hang open.

With a small gasp, she realized that, in spite of the unorthodox placement, this was her boyfriend's bedroom. That, however, was not the strange part; after all, the rooms in these places were often nondescript, and could be used for any number of purposes. Perhaps Jonathan had merely put his room there for ease of access.

What caught her off-guard were the walls lined with asari memorabilia – a formidable collection easily worth 10,000 credits... or more.

She barely had time to take the unexpected sight in before she realized Teague was heading into the living room. Without thinking, she closed the door as quietly as she could, and headed back to the sofa.

“Drinks are here!” Teague exclaimed, setting the glasses down on the table.

“Alright, Jonathan,” Sira replied, turning to face her boyfriend, “We need to discuss something.”

“But of course, Sira. What is it?”

Sira hesitated, looking away from him with a deep frown. Teague asked, “What is it, Sira? You can tell me anything. Anything at all.”

Still looking deeply uncertain, the asari took a few moments to gather her words as Teague took a sip of his brandy. After a short while had passed, Sira finally uttered, “We need to talk about how you act around humans.”

Instantly, Teague froze, causing the strong alcohol to catch in his throat and burn. Coughing and sputtering, he managed to collect himself after a few seconds, and his facial expression was suddenly grim.

“Why do we need to talk about that, Sira? You're an asari. You should have no issue with how I –”

“Except I do, Jonathan,” Sira replied quickly. “I have a major issue with it. It's bad enough that you appear to be totally xenophobic, but it's even worse because they're you're own species.”

Snarling, Teague growled, “Don't remind me.”

Noticing the alarmed look on Sira's face, Teague continued, “And don't look at me like that. I'm surprised you're so willing to throw humanity a bone, Sira. After all, we have to be the peskiest, most-needy species in galactic history, I'm sure. We practically started begging for a Council seat right after we discovered it! We ask so much from you all, and what do we give in return? Absolutely nothing – unless you count pigheaded ignorance and primitive technology as good things.”

Sira remained speechless, so Teague pressed on.

“Your people, on the other hand, intrigue me greatly, Sira. Take, for example, your propensity for diplomacy and science, generally speaking. You are also all natural biotics, and possess the greatest single fighting force in the known galaxy. You are the only species known to ever have successfully achieved a stable e-democracy, and the crime rate on your homeworld is nearly nonexistent. You were the first to discover interstellar space travel, and live for a phenomenally long time when compared with other species. It's been said that some of your people are highly-arrogant with regards to your race's status. But who could truly blame you? I would be arrogant, too, Sira. In fact, arrogance is your _right_. It really verges on an _obligation_. The asari are nature's perfect race, and humans are nature's catastrophically-failed science experiment. It's time my people left the rest of the galaxy in peace – or at least decided to shut up about their pathetic 'struggles'.”

Stunned, Sira remained unable to think of anything to say for the next several moments. She had thought that Teague might have issues, but she never expected them to be this... militant. She felt suddenly very self-conscious due to Teague's remarks, and for a second, her thoughts went back to the bedazzled wall in his bedroom. Her line of thought was interrupted, however, by Teague's sudden resumption of speech.

“In any case, Sira, you are no doubt wondering why it is that I harbour such passionate feelings on the issue. Let me assure you that my reasons are inconsequential to my worldview – I daresay I would have arrived at the same conclusions even if certain things hadn't taken place. They are hardly difficult conclusions to come to.”

With that, Teague took a great swig from his glass, and this time, was able to knock it back with admirable restraint. 

“Jonathan,” Sira finally spoke, a quiet, cautious tone permeating her voice, “When a person makes a statement so suggestive of a supremacist outlook, their reasons for doing so are hardly 'inconsequential'. I would not normally do this, but I must insist that you tell me why you believe what you believe.”

Teague looked at Sira with a curious mixture of stone-hard antagonism and inner misery, as if pleading for her to rescind her request. After a few seconds, Teague complied.

“Are you aware of what happened to a few small towns outside of Illyria a few years back?”

Thinking for a second, Sira said, “There was a Cerberus raid in that area four years ago, if I recall.”

“That's correct,” the young man said, turning to face straight ahead, focusing as if imagining the events in his mind. “Going through something like that... can do interesting things to a person.”

It took a second or two for Sira to realize what her boyfriend was implying, but she instantly realized why Teague was living alone. 

“Jonathan... I'm sorry, I didn't –”

“My parents were high-ranking Alliance dignitaries, working as diplomats directly under Ambassador Boyle,” Teague resumed, totally ignoring Sira's interjection. “They made a wonderful target for Cerberus, what with that group's hatred of the Alliance. I was forced to listen as both of them were thrown to the ground and murdered without even being given the luxury of last words. 

“Their own fellow humans were the tools of their demise, all because of petty political squabbling and a demented drive to compensate for humanity's obvious inferiority with empty rhetoric and brutal strongarm operations. When humanity cannot even stop killing itself, who can say, with any truth whatsoever, that we are ready for equality on the galactic stage? Frankly, Sira, I spit on the very idea. So long as humankind acts like beligerent neanderthals, we should be treated accordingly – and without mercy.”

Sira gave herself a few moments, both out of courtesy to Teague and in order to figure out what to say next. There certainly wasn't much one could say in a situation like this.

“Jonathan, I don't doubt what happened was horrible beyond description. But that doesn't mean you can blacklist an entire species of people –”

“Please,” Teague seethed, half-muttering and pushing Sira's hand away with his shoulder. “ _We're hardly even people to begin with._ ”

Beginning to feel truly unsettled by this point, Sira said in a slightly indignant manner, “This isn't like you, Jonathan. I know you.”

At this point, Teague turned his icy, piercing gaze to Sira, making perfect, uninterrupted eye contact. His face was even more grim than before, yet he said absolutely nothing, almost as if no known word would define how he was feeling at this exact moment in time.

Sira felt more and more frightened with every passing moment. She felt as if Teague's eyes were cutting into her body like anxious daggers, his expression of condemnation and disgust like nothing she had seen from him before. It was clear to her by this point that Jonathan Teague was not the man he appeared to be.

“You insult your own people, Sira,” Teague said, his face as unchanging as his monotone delivery. “You defend ceaselessly that which does not deserve to be defended. You preach equality and peace, when your people are both able to and justified in taking everything for yourselves. You deny a legacy of perfection and superiority, and defile it with your insistence that rats are equal to hawks. You, in short, are a _disgrace_.”

These last words immediately transformed Sira's fear into anger, and she countered with great speed.

“I'm the asari here, Jonathan, not you. I think I'd know more about what disgraces my people than you ever could. And what disgusts me more than anything is how you view us right now. We aren't gods, Jonathan. We're people, just like you.”

Teague's face grew red with fury, and it contorted itself into an outraged grimace. Before he could return verbal fire, however, his attention was grabbed by the sight of his bedroom door, conspicuously closed.

Sira noticed it, as well, upon shifting her glance to where Teague's was facing. Her heart sank immediately; it was obvious that Teague was more-than-capable of jumping to conclusions in the state he was in presently.

“I left that door open this morning... I'm sure of it.” Teague spoke as he stared at the door. Turning back to face Sira again, he said, “You snooped around in my quarters. Why, Sira?”

Still staring at the door with returning fear, she was unable to speak. 

“ _Why, Sira?_ ”

“I... was just closing the door, because you had left it open. I was trying to do you a favour! I swear, all I saw was –”

Sira had already said too much, and she realized this as she uttered the last part of her sentence: “Your wall!”

What happened next was a blur for Teague. In fact, the term “blackout” might better suffice. During this state, he was entirely unaware of what he was doing, in a manner similar to what had taken place four years ago. He couldn't have been detached for more than a few moments this time, however – this much he was certain of.

As Teague snapped back to his senses, the implications of the sight before him terrified him. Though he thankfully had not yet done any damage to Sira, he had apparently cornered her. Sira was breathing heavily, and tears were beginning to fill her eyes. She had a look of mortal fear upon her face, as if she was truly terrified that the irrational Teague had been about to murder her – or at best, severely harm her.

Teague found this scene to be an overload on his senses, and he slowly stepped back with sheer horror. Unable to even stutter out a few disshevelled syllables, he simply gaped for a few seconds as he backpedalled, then turned and ran out the door, exiting the apartment with nothing else said.

 

* * *

 

Teague had managed to flee to a nearby alleyway outside the apartment building, trying desperately to come to grips with what had just taken place.

Many people would be, at this point, focusing on the fact that they had obviously suffered an episode, and would be scrambling to figure out precisely why this was.

Jonathan Teague was decidedly unlike many people.

Instead of focusing on his apparent lapse from reality, he focused on the fact that he had very nearly hurt an asari – and not just any asari, either, but the one he had fallen in love with.

There was no point in even trying to apologize. It was impossible for any sane person to forgive him for what had just happened, least of all Sira herself. He owed it to her to stay out of her life, and to completely sever all contact with her. There was no way to repair the relationship now; that much was glaringly clear.

His mind, as fast as it was racing, always kept returning to Sira's species, however.

He had done the unthinkable. Whether or not he was experiencing an involuntary break with reality didn't matter. He had attempted, whether knowingly or not, to cause harm to a member of the greatest race in the known galaxy. In doing so, he had only demonstrated further his race's incapacity for anything greater than savage violence and counterproductive aggression. As low as he had felt before the incident due to his being human, he felt even worse now that he had become just another casualty of the human condition.

There was only one thing he could do at this point. He had planned to become a diplomat like his mother and father, initially because it was all he was familiar with, and because it was a line of work suited to associating with the asari. But humans weren't worthy of associating with them on an equal level. They were hardly even worthy of being their servants. Teague realized that now.

A new plan began to take shape in his mind, one which took advantage of his current line of study whilst changing its intent and trajectory greatly.

He would still become a diplomat. He would still continue his studies, and begin serving the Alliance as his parents did, but with one exception: his _true_ loyalties would remain with non-human species. He would gain his superiors' trust, then proceed to bend just enough to the other species' wills to gradually weaken Alliance credibility and momentum. It was the only way he could atone for the grievous transgression against nature which he had perpetrated this night. It was a grandiose, treasonous act of sabotage, one not based in revenge so much as justice and perceived necessity.

And he loved it.

He figured that Sira was still in the house, so he waited outside for perhaps another hour, mulling the idea over in his head. As much as part of Teague wished for Sira to report his actions, this would prove critically detrimental to his plan. Luckily, he doubted that she would do so; she was, at the end of the day, a submissive person, and one all-too-forgiving of those around her. For someone who wanted to make a living negotiating difficult deals with factions placed in opposition to her own, she had a lot to learn.

And that was just fine with him.

 

* * *

 

Several years had passed since the fateful Illyrian night on which Teague had formed his plan. Things had gone surprisingly well, overall, and he was confident that he had dealt several major blows to Alliance diplomatic progress. While he had regrettably done little to change the reputation of his people's government (after all, he was only one man), he had managed to critically botch numerous key trade and military pacts. With some, he merely gave too much ground to the other party. With others, however, he had made a deliberate point of asking far too much, a subterfuge which invariably ended in the complete termination of whatever deal was on the table. More often than not, he only did this when he deemed a deal to be far too advantageous an opportunity for Alliance expansion – he couldn't keep a deception so antithetical to his own beliefs up for very long, and there was always the risk of being caught to take into consideration.

Teague had been calm, cautious, and methodical throughout the protracted orchestration of his scheme, and had become quite a good actor because of it. At least, that was what he had thought until today.

Usually, Jonathan Teague maintained a sophisticated, confident air about himself. After all, he was one of the few humans who understood the true way the galaxy worked. With this in mind, he had taken to dressing impeccably. His long brown hair was drawn back tightly into a ponytail, much as his father's had been. His facial hair was maintained to a high standard of excellence, resembling a goatee with extended tips at the mustache line and chin. He was, as always, wearing his best suit, a tan outfit made in the style of Alliance fashion.

However, if there ever was a time to see Teague nervous (an anomaly among anomalies), this was surely it. Simply put, he was a wreck.

Somehow, he must have slipped up. He was presently on trial in an Alliance high court on suspicion of treason – and the trial was not going well so far.

He somehow had failed to notice, all this time, that Ambassador Udina and a large portion of C-Sec had been gathering information on him. Though Teague exhibited the same contempt for humans that he had for much of his life, he could not help but grudgingly admire the stealth with which they had performed their intelligence work. Teague was anything but an imperceptive man, but even he had not seen this coming. He wondered for a few moments if he had simply underestimated the ability of his fellow human beings, but quickly dismissed this notion. There was no way that was possible. Rather, if he had underestimated anything, it was the manipulative sneakiness of his fellow human beings. 

As damning piece of evidence after damning piece of evidence cascaded forth from the prosecution, Teague realized that his plan was in dire jeopardy. In fact, it was essentially already at an end – the guilty verdict was inevitable. In his fear and anger, Teague wondered if his pathetic, incompetent excuse for an attorney was purposely fumbling in order to please the court. He imagined that the mere mention of a treason charge was serious enough to concern even the most stalwart of unbiased lawyers. At very least, it must have made him nervous.

The trial had been going for hours now, and most of it had been taken up with testimonies from C-Sec officers and other diplomats. His fellow dignitaries were anything but merciful on him, spouting nonsense about him being “too intelligent to simply ruin so many sensitive deals by mere accident”. He had always hated talking to other humans, but he had needed to maintain a pretense of concern for human affairs in order to keep his cover. Now, he wished that he hadn't been so cordial.

As the trial began to draw to a close, Teague's rage reached a boiling point. He refused to believe that this was the end. After six years spent studying at the Political Academy of Illyria, and another eight spent slowly sabotaging the Alliance as best he could, it was all coming to an end. What was worse, it was happening due to the very enemy he had sought to discredit from all meaningful communication with the rest of the galaxy.

Teague was certain that his face was showing uncharacteristic levels of sheer anger. By this point, however, he didn't care, and as he saw the judge about to hand over the verdict, his fists clenched. His heart sank, then filled with pure fire.

“Jonathan Teague, the court finds you guilty of no less than 17 counts of treason with intent to sabotage Alliance credibility. I hereby sentence you to two decades in an Alliance pennitentiary, the location of which is to be decided at a later date.”

Despite the Systems Alliance's technologically-advanced nature, there were still some traditions which had yet to be abandoned – the judge's gavel was one of them. As soon as it pounded against the desk, Teague rose to his feet and took a defiant position directly in front of the judge.

“ _Just who do you think you are?_ ” Teague growled, his normally-dignified voice losing its trademark drawl in the heat of the moment. “ _Who do you think you are, handing such a preposterous sentence to me? Do you have_ any _idea how much I have worked to get to this point? I'll not have you ruin it all with a swing of your gavel!_ ”

Immediately noticing Teague's fervour, the judge motioned for the bailiff to restrain him. Teague, however, was surprisingly agile, and evaded the bailiff's grasp, escaping to the other side of the courtroom.

Roaring, and losing all control, Teague continued, “ _You pathetic wastes of life are all the same! You take what you want without any honour or restraint! Why do you think I did what I did? To put you all in your proper place! Humanity is the sorriest bunch of lowlife imbeciles to ever claw out of the muck, except for maybe the Vorcha! You repulse me! You disgust me, all of you!”_

Pointing his finger across the room, he could see that the whole of the courtroom was equally perplexed and frightened by his sudden, rambling outburst. Despite this, he pressed on, completely unperturbed.

“ _I'll be_ damned _if I let you worthless neanderthals outsmart me! I'm the one who knows better! I'm the one who understands how things really are! I'm frankly surprised that the Council hasn't annihilated us yet; they certainly wouldn't be unjustified in doing so!_ ”

The bailiff made another attempt at restraining Teague, but was met with a swift, savage punch to the gut. Teague again bounded to another corner of the courtroom.

“ _You all could stand to learn a thing or two from the asari! Those people know how to get things done without killing eachother in the process! They have so much to offer, yet you are all far too blind to see it! Even other species don't understand! They are truly the greatest the galaxy has to offer, but how shall they reach their true potential when they are relegated to a slavishly equal role with the rest of Council space? There is nothing stopping them from their rightful destiny except their own mindset! Mark my words! You'll all pay! One day soon! I_ refuse _to believe that they will stay quiet forever!_ ”

Another bailiff tackled Teague to the ground, but he resisted even this, squirming out of the burly man's grasp with all of his strength and scrambling back to his feet.

“ _I'm not a villain! When your people are such filth, treason is a_ virtue! _I am a liberator! I am trying to rid civilized space of the cancer that is humanity!_ ”

Teague was, by this point, close to the rightmost exit of the courtroom. This exit was unguarded due to its sentry having tackled the raging convict only a few seconds prior. Realizing that there were now additional security forces pouring into the room, he followed his instincts and bolted out the door.

He heard the increasingly-muffled commotion of the discordant court behind him as he sprinted with all of his ability. He had no idea where to run, but he knew he needed to evade capture. Not only were his 17 counts of treason still on his head, but he had now assaulted a bailiff and resisted arrest. There was no going back now, though the thought of doing so had never crossed his mind anyway.

The sweat began to run down his face after a couple more minutes, his perfectly-maintained hair now disshevelled and matted with perspiration. He was glad indeed that he kept as fit as he did, though even he was tiring fast. Luckily, he appeared to be several metres ahead of his pursuers, and he managed to find a nearby alley now that he had escaped the building. Ducking inside, he slowed his pace to a brisk walk, and felt a sharp, cramping pain take hold of the right side of his abdomen. Trying to ignore the pain as best he could, Teague soldiered on, finding a large crowd as he made his way out of his detour. Taking great pains to blend with the crowd, he followed it with a natural, slow walk for several blocks, until he was certain he was no longer being pursued.

He found, with great surprise, that he had been led by the bustling swarm to a run-of-the-mill port. His analytical mind kicked in again instantly, and he knew this was his only remaining chance. He had to get offworld. If he couldn't accomplish that, he was history.

Instantly making his way to the main booking area, he hastily checked over the list of available flights. He promptly found one he fell in love with: Thessia.

Teague joined the nearest line. He waited for perhaps ten minutes until he got to the front of it, allowing his breathing to fully return to normal. When he got to the desk, he simply told the attendant, his signature accent returning, “One ticket for the next available flight to Thessia, please.”

“Alright, sir, one moment.” The attendant pressed a few buttons on the interface in front of him, then said, “The next flight is in approximately two hours.”

“I'm sorry... did you say 'two hours'?” Teague replied, slightly frightened by this point. That was far too long to wait. While he had managed to escape his assailants for the time being, they were most certainly still on the lookout for him. It would only be a matter of time before he was caught.

“That's correct, sir, yes. Wait, hold on a sec!” The attendant exclaimed, looking directly at Teague's face with an air of sudden revelation. After pressing a few more buttons, he asked, “Jonathan Teague?”

Instantly, Teague's blood turned cold. Without thinking, he replied, “Yes, that's right.”

“Sir, why are you setting up a civilian flight?”

Caught completely off-guard by the nature of the attendant's question, the fleeing saboteur was unable to stammer anything more than, “What do you mean?” 

“Well, it says here that you're an Alliance diplomat. You have the necessary clearance to take a priority-class flight. I suggest you do so, too, or your superiors aren't likely to be happy.”

Teague's body warmed up again with a tingling sensation of pure relief. He had forgotten entirely about that provision. More to the point, he had also forgotten about the news of the Reaper attack on Earth only a few hours previously. It was truly amazing what could slip your mind when you were evading capture... and when you despised the human race enough to be dismissive towards its fate.

As for the reason why he was still registered as a diplomat in their archives, it seemed obvious to Teague. After all, the verdict had only been handed down about twenty or so minutes ago. There was no way that the Alliance had found the time already to strike him from the registry.

With a massive, mock-civil grin masquerading great slyness, Teague stated, “Ah, it appears you are right! What with the attack having taken place only a few hours ago, I was simply trying to get off-world as soon as possible.”

“That's understandable. Frankly, I wish I could get off of this rock. I've got a family, you –”

“Enough small talk, then!” Teague said with a wave of his hand, still maintaining his mock smile. “Let me be off!”

“Of course, sir. I'm putting the request through now. The flight isn't full, but it's already been here for too long, so it should only be a matter of minutes before you can go. If I may ask, though, why Thessia? I would have thought you'd be going to another Alliance planet.”

“Oh,” Teague said, looking down as he folded his fingers together before returning his glance to the unsuspecting attendant, “Let's just say... I have friends there.”

“I see,” the attendant chuckled.

This was it. As he made his way to the designated runway, he took one last look at the spectacularly-miserable dot of rock he was leaving for what would hopefully be the last time. He had successfully evaded capture, and, for the first time since the onset of the trial, he felt proud of himself.

His work, however, was far from done, and Jonathan Teague was already forming a new plan from the ashes of his previous one, his mind ceaselessly piecing it together.

 

* * *

 

As Teague walked onto the ship headed for Thessia, he felt a grand sense of accomplishment. There was something wonderfully fulfilling about ducking under the radar like this. Just when he had thought he was about to lose everything to his worst enemies, he had outwitted them.

He attempted to drive these emotions back, however. He still had to finish formulating his next plan, and he absolutely _had_ to make sure it would work. There was no way he could risk being apprehended by the Alliance – not when he had just added yet another offense to his record by having signed up for this flight. If he were to become satisifed at this point, that satisfaction would no doubt fester into complacency – and complacency was, by all accounts, right up there with arrogance as the great destroyer of empires.

Teague followed one of the flight attendants onboard the ship to the area he was allotted for the duration of the flight. Being the only “diplomat” who had shown up for this particular excursion, he was to be treated to complete solitude – exactly the conditions he had hoped for. As he made his way through the ship, however, he noticed a couple of staff talking with eachother, apparently about another person taking the flight.

He didn't have time to stop and listen to them, but he did manage to overhear a few points. According to them, there was an Alliance General who had somehow managed to get on this high-class flight. Rumours had been flying around about his being illegitimately passed through the ranks by his grandfather, especially after a “scandal” that had taken place. He was certainly not held in high regard by the staff, despite having only been present for a few minutes. Already, he had taken to making perverse declarations to any female attendant who passed his line of sight, and his overall appearance was unkempt and undignified. Apparently, there were even rumours that this man had engaged in criminal activities in exchange for a king's ransom in credits.

For some reason, this last statement stood out in Teague's mind, and he committed what he had heard to memory as he and the attendant he was following reached their destination.

“This is where you'll be staying, sir,” the attendant said with a smile, opening the door to the first-class section. “As I said, you're the only one on this flight with first-class clearance, so you'll be alone with your thoughts for the duration. If you have any requests, please feel free to ask over the intercom.”

“Thank you, madam,” Teague spoke with a slight bow, his smile emerging again. “It is very much appreciated.”

It only took the ex-diplomat a few minutes to settle into his seat. He began formulating his plan in earnest at this time, centering it around one key development. He was no longer a diplomat for the Alliance. However, he was now headed for Thessia – the homeworld of his idols. This gave him an opportunity the likes of which he had never had before, and, what was even better, he didn't need to worry over the legal implications of such a chance. After all, he was already technically a criminal, anyway. 

He considered the fact that he already had experience in the political arena. Therefore, he was well-equipped to work with the goings-on of a government body. Not only this, but he had devoted a substantial portion of his time for the last 23 years to understanding asari culture and politics. This meant, overall, that he possessed the necessary background for making the final step towards repenting his humanity – he was going to defect to the Asari Republics, by any means necessary.

It wasn't only because of his fantasizing that he wanted to do this, however. While the Reaper attack on Earth certainly didn't make his heart bleed for his fellow humans, it definitely alerted him to the possibility of Reaper advancement throughout the galaxy. He had needed to keep his act up until getting on his flight, and therefore wasn't able to focus on such a dire possibility until now. The more he thought about it, however, the more he feared for the survival of the asari. As astounding as the asari were, even they would require a great amount of time to even attempt to form a means of viably engaging the Reapers in combat. Teague felt it his obligation to help them do so in any way he could.

Indeed, as he sat deep in thought, he realized that he would be more-than-willing to sacrifice even every other species in the known galaxy, if it meant ensuring the continued prosperity of the asari. Nothing mattered more to him at this point than securing their continued well-being. He further reasoned that, if the Reapers _did_ manage to destroy much of the turian, salarian, human, and other civilizations, it would merely prove an easier opportunity for the asari to come in and usurp their governments, ensuring their ascendance to their rightful place in the galaxy. All in all, he simply needed to do this – provided that he would be accepted.

That was the problem, however: how would he be accepted? What would he offer? Surely, the asari were not going to greet him with open arms. It would only be natural that they would suspect him of being a spy, or, at best, a double agent. He needed some way of assuring them of his good intentions – a token of goodwill, as it were. He possessed access to various damning, top-secret diplomatic transcripts (documents which had only made him resent the Alliance even more when he had first read them), ones more than capable of blackmailing the human government. These would be good as a starting point, and would perhaps even get him started as an informant. This still wasn't good enough, though; he'd need some way of keeping the stream of information relevant and steady, which, having now been expelled from Alliance politics, he could not do on his own.

That was when it hit him. He recalled what the staff members had said about the lone Alliance soldier on the ship. The man's rank and willingness to do anything to make a quick credit made him a perfect candidate. Being a General, he was of a sufficient level of clearance to be filled in on highly-classified intelligence. Not only this, but the fact that his grandfather had already managed to pull enough strings throughout the bureaucracy to keep him going through the chain of command meant that he already had sufficient cover. In fact, Teague assumed that his grandfather's illicit dealings were the only reason this parasite was permitted onto such an exclusive flight.

Without delay, Teague spoke into the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Mr. Teague?” the attendant from earlier replied.

“What is the name of the Alliance General currently on this flight? The one that's been causing you so much trouble?”

With a tone of deep disgust, the attendant asked, “Oh, you mean Mr. Arnold?”

“Yes. I wish for him to meet me in this section, if at all possible. I must speak with him in private.”

Shocked, the attendant could only inquire, “Why, sir?”

Teague found himself irritated by her persistence, and bluntly stated, “I don't think it's your place to question such a request. I simply need him up here as soon as you can bring him.”

“Ah... yes, Mr. Teague. Right away.”

“Good.”

With that, Teague waited for perhaps five minutes. When Arnold finally arrived, he looked exactly as Teague had imagined. His face was unshaven, and looked like it had been so for at least four days. He possessed a glazed look in his eyes, and Teague realized that he was probably hung over. The man's complexion was downright repulsive, and he walked into the room with a languid saunter. Truly a disgrace to the human species, even by Teague's standards.

As much as it revolted Teague to even look at this man, he was obviously perfect for the job.

“Hello, Mr... Arnold, was it?” Teague began, motioning to the seat opposite his own. “Please, sit, by all means.”

Teague found his diplomatic training helped immensely in this situation – it took all his effort not to send Arnold back to where he came from.

“What's all this about?” Arnold replied lazily, complying with Teague's request.

“Well, Mr. Arnold,” Teague elaborated, “It appears as though you are a very profit-driven man.” 

“Who wants to know?” 

“I do, Mr. Arnold. I do. You see, I have a business proposition for you.” 

Looking as intrigued as his recently-inebriated body would allow, Arnold stated, “I'm listening.”

“Very good. Now, then. I require something of you, Mr. Arnold. In return for this service, I will reward you with ample compensation.”

“Well, what do you want?”

Smiling and getting to his feet, Teague informed Arnold, “I need... _information._ Sensitive information. As sensitive and high-security in nature as you can possibly manage. I need you to do this for me, so that I might supply it to some very imperiled friends of mine.”

“Wait... you're asking me to commit _treason?_ I could spend my life in prison for that!”

“Actually, Mr. Arnold,” Teague replied, turning to face his potential contact, “The Systems Alliance can only place you in jail for up to two decades if you are convicted of treason. I would know.”

As a prideful smirk twisted across the misanthrope's face, Arnold could see that he was dealing with a very dangerous person. With this in mind, he cautiously asked, “Why do you want this kind of intel? What are you going to do with it?”

“I told you. I have friends who are, unbeknownst to them, in a lot of danger. They require any possible edge they can get, so as to weather the coming storm. I am heading to their homeworld right now, as a matter of fact.”

Even in his incapacitated state, Arnold was able to piece things together. He, too, rose to his feet. “You're helping the _asari?_ Don't you think you could help humanity out a little bit? You know, what with us being devastated wholesale by an ancient army of space-squids?”

“What makes you think humanity is so _worth_ being saved, Mr. Arnold? Are the asari not superior in every way to us? Longevity, diplomacy, science, elegance... they have it _all_ , Mr. Arnold, and they have it in droves. I daresay we should all be looking at preserving them before anyone else.”

Arnold hesitated, not sure if Teague was being serious or not. After a few moments, he realized the graveness of the former diplomat's expression, and was greatly unsettled by the situation he found himself in.

“I can't do this. There's no way. You're nuts, and it's just way too risky anyway. Nuh-uh. No way.”

Shaking his head and heading for the door, Arnold was about to leave when Teague called out.

“20,000 credits could be yours, Mr. Arnold. That's four zeroes.”

Hesitantly, Arnold turned his head and insisted, “That's still not enough.”

Seeing that Arnold was about to open the door, Teague remained perfectly calm, stating, “Alright. 50,000.”

Turning around, Arnold said, “What?”

“50,000 credits could be yours if you agree to aid me, Mr. Arnold. Upon completion of the task, that is.”

“I... ah...” 

Teague could see that Arnold's will was quickly breaking – all according to plan – and so he dropped another bombshell.

“100,000 credits. That is my final offer, Mr. Arnold. Make your choice. Right now.”

Simply gaping at Teague incredulously, Arnold finally broke down and complied, reluctance permeating his voice.

“Fine. I'll do it.”

“Excellent! You shall begin work immediately! I require the first exchange to take place as soon as you can secure data!” Teague ordered with glee.

Nodding, Arnold asked, “Can I go now?”

“Yes, Mr. Arnold. You may go. But if you tell anyone of what we have just discussed, the deal is off. Do you understand?”

Nervous, Arnold nodded again before leaving.

So far, everything was going according to plan. Teague had managed to secure the last element he needed in order to establish an opening offer. Of course, he had no intention of supplying the agreed-upon funds to Arnold; it was merely a way of getting him to agree to the plan. He had no qualms about manipulating humans – they were, after all, expendable.

While the asari possessed no true politicians in the human sense of the word (barring their Councillor, of course), they _did_ possess numerous influential Matriarchs. Teague expected that, if he could sway even a small handful of these wise women – or indeed, even one or two, provided they had a high-enough social status – he would be accepted into their society.

Both a childhood dream and a tactical necessity in one fell swoop. Not bad.

However, he still had to do one more thing. Drawing up the Systems Alliance government database on his omni-tool, he checked to see if his name was still on the diplomats' registry. Relieved that it was, he provided the necessary clearance for their closed-server cloud, and downloaded the transcripts he wished to provide to the Matriarchs.

_Too easy,_ Teague thought to himself, his signature smug grin widening across his face.

He knew he still had a few hours to wait until the ship touched down on Thessia. With this fact in mind, Jonathan Teague afforded himself the rare courtesy of sleep.

 

* * *

 

Teague awoke some time later, and had made haste to touch down on Thessian soil. He had found the experience exhilarating; as much as he had learned about these majestic people over the last several years, he could never have envisioned the grandeur of their homeworld. It pained him not to be able to tour the area extensively, but he needed to stay focused. 

His first order of business was to ascertain the next point at which he might schedule a conference with as many Matriarchs as possible. This was no easy task – they were busy people, and were even more so due to the Reaper crisis. They were no doubt facing great amounts of struggle over whether or not the asari should involve themselves with the conflict, and Teague wondered for awhile as to whether or not his pursuit would be fruitless. As luck would have it, however, the next conference was scheduled for later that day. Earning an audience, however, was another matter entirely.

After much persuasion, Teague managed to schedule an appointment at the very end of the meeting, again being forced to use his false diplomat status as leverage. He felt a stab of guilt at deceiving the very people he was trying to protect, but he reasoned that it was a minor transgression (and a necessary one, at that). He waited in the main hall of the grand building in which the conference was taking place, until finally his name was called by a receptionist.

“Mr. Teague, you may speak with the Matriarchs. Use their time wisely.”

For the first time since the trial, Teague felt nervous. This, however, was an even worse case of nerves than before. During the trial, he was at least only dealing with other humans. This time, however, he was not only dealing with a large group of asari, but a large group of _Matriarchs_. They were absurdly perceptive, intelligent women by anyone's standards, and if he made even one small misstep, his entire plan would implode on itself irreparably.

With full realization of this, Teague made his way through the door indicated by the receptionist, up the staircase within, and into the conference hall. To his momentary terror, he found himself directly in the centre of their piercing, appraising stares. In the middle of the circular room, he felt almost as if he was performing for them.

Luckily, he was a very good actor by this point.

“So, Mr... 'Teague', I believe?” One of the Matriarchs, possessing wrinkled, deep-teal skin, began. “You have earned our audience. But the question is, why did you seek it in the first place?”

Teague was about to open his mouth to answer when another Matriarch spoke, causing him to turn around to address her.

“Indeed. It is not common at all for a human to confer with us, and even less so during wartime,” the turquoise-skinned asari asserted.

“What is this nonsense? We have no time whatsoever to speak with a _human!_ We have our _own_ affairs to worry about!” Snapped still another Matriarch, possessing a lavender skin colour this time.

“Be silent, Nephthia,” the deep-teal skinned Matriarch interjected, holding up a hand to signal her sentiment. Turning back to face Teague, she began, “I apologize, Mr. Teague. There are some within our ranks who seek... _objectionable_ ends. Despite our disagreement with their views, however, we must allow them to confer amongst us.”

_I have no 'objection' to the ends she seeks,_ Teague thought, grateful that he finally had a chance to speak.

“Not at all, esteemed Matriarch,” Teague began, bowing in respect. “It is no trouble, I assure you.”

“So, then,” the turquoise-skinned one asked, “why _are_ you here?”

Cracking his knuckles to show his preparedness, Teague began, “Ah, yes. As you know, I have diplomatic experience with the Systems Alliance. This means that I have access to a great deal of information pertaining to my government and its inner workings.”

Turning around in a circle to face all of the assembled Matriarchs (only a tiny smattering of them, though a total of eight was actually better than he had expected), he was unsurprised to see that not a single one was perplexed as to where he was headed. Some looked slightly amused, patiently appraising Teague and his proposal; others looked unsettled by the implications thereof. Nevertheless, Teague continued, still composed and confident in his manner.

“You also know that my homeworld of Earth was attacked mere hours ago by the Reapers.”

“Yes,” the teal-skinned Matriarch interrupted with an intellectual air. “That was actually what we were discussing up till your arrival. It is a sad state of affairs, to be sure.”

“Indeed,” Teague responded, feigning interest in the fate of his own people, “And that is why I was alerted not only to the crisis facing my species, but that which will inevitably face yours, as well.”

Many a Matriarch perked up at this statement. They were no doubt able to pick up on the sincerity of Teague's words, yet were still markedly hesitant with regards to them. Nephthia immediately voiced those concerns, albeit in a much more antagonistic fashion.

“Ha! And what makes you so certain we require _your_ people's help? The asari have always possessed more than enough prowess to win _any_ conflict we have been involved in! Why should we require your help with this one?”

The teal-skinned Matriarch again held her hand up in impatience, causing Nephthia to fall silent, albeit with a scowl on her face.

“With all due respect, esteemed Matriarch,” Teague replied, facing Nephthia directly and donning a mischievous grin, “I was not implying that I was acting on behalf of my people.”

Instantly, murmurs broke out between the Matriarchs. It was as if Teague's words had been a rock dropped into the pond that was the conference, sending sudden ripples throughout. 

The teal-skinned Matriarch, obviously well-respected even amongst other Matriarchs, exclaimed,“Let us not whisper amongst ourselves!” The mumbling died down instantly, leading her to continue: “This man has made a sincere effort to earn our company, and we must give him this courtesy. We must speak freely and openly to him – this is only honourable.”

Again, Teague thanked her.

A fourth Matriarch, with sky-blue skin, suddenly inquired, “For whom _are_ you acting, then, diplomat?” 

“My conscience, esteemed Matriarch.”

“Explain yourself, Mr. Teague. I do not like where this is going,” the turquoise-hued Matriarch stated bluntly.

“Simply put, I wish to supply your people with as much confidential intelligence as I can, so as to aid you in your efforts to thwart the Reapers. I wish also to give you access to classified diplomatic paperwork, in order that I may provide you with a tactical advantage over the Alliance. In short, I wish to relinquish my allegiance to the Systems Alliance and defect to the Asari Republics.”

More ripples echoed through the pond, fiercer than last time. Even the teal-skinned Matriarch, who before had remained calm and patient, now looked deeply distrustful of Teague.

“By the Goddess,” the sky-blue Matriarch swore in a raised voice, “this is unheard of! You expect us to just _trust_ you? Who is to say you are not merely playing both sides? Or worse yet, a spy for the Alliance?”

“Esteemed Matriarchs, if you would please allow me to explain –”

For several seconds, the deafening banter refused to subside. It was only after what felt like an eternity that the teal-skinned Matriarch, again with merely a hand gesture, silenced them.

“Your explanations had best be worth our while,” she began, a deep-seated and unnerving glare on her face. “I do not think I need to tell you, Mr. Teague, that we are already greatly unnerved by your proposal. You have already wasted our time, it seems. Do not waste more.”

Beneath his cool exterior, Teague was again exceedingly nervous. As he stood, still in the middle of eight exceptionally-perceptive asari Matriarchs, he felt their unanimous, outraged scowls pierce through him from all directions.

“Rest assured that they are, esteemed Ma –”

“Just 'Matriarch' will suffice, Mr. Teague.”

This last statement cracked through his façade for a split-second – and, he was sure, that was all they needed to observe his vulnerability firsthand. If this didn't work, it was all over.

“Right. Firstly, I would like to turn your attention to an example of the documents I was referring to earlier.”

Teague proceeded to draw up a hologram of one of the downloaded transcripts on his omni-tool. 

“If you wish, I can provide you all with copies of it so you can verify its encryption as being genuine.”

At the behest of the sky-blue Matriarch, Teague did as he offered. The Matriarchs exhibited collective surprise at the fact that the transcript was demonstrably legitimate. 

“This is a powerful opening, I will admit, Mr. Teague,” the turquoise-skinned Matriarch conceded, “But it still does not assure us of the sincerity of your defection.”

As Teague prepared to unveil his second offering, he felt himself begin to perspire. This was it. If this didn't go over extravagantly well, it was going to horribly backfire. There was no middle-ground possibility.

“I would politely suggest, Matriarchs,” Teague began, on the verge of trembling, “that you turn your attention to the diplomats' registry of the Systems Alliance database. I shall gain clearance into it for you.”

As he put in the necessary clearance information for entry into the database (with no small amount of risk taken in doing so), he reasoned that it had been long enough now for his name to have disappeared from its ranks. Luckily, he was correct. The Matriarchs had only examined the registry for a few moments before the sky-blue one expressed her outrage.

“ _What is the meaning of this?_ ” She exclaimed in indignation.

“My diplomat status was stripped from me earlier today. I was found guilty of 17 acts of treason with intent to sabotage Systems Alliance credibility.”

Though Teague had uttered this sentence with unmistakeable pride, the Matriarchs again merely slashed into him with their fiery glares of disapproval. The teal-skinned Matriarch looked even more insulted now, and Teague was at a complete loss. His face fell, and he barely had time to figure out why the Matriarchs were offended as they were before the turquoise one laid it out for him.

“Mr. Teague, you came here requesting an audience with us. You were granted it, but only on the assumed veracity of your word and your role as an Alliance diplomat. By lying to our faces about your lack of diplomat status, you show us that you are not only a deceptive individual, but one who could never be trusted within our ranks, and who thinks nothing of insulting our intelligence with your insincere banter.”

“Indeed. In presenting this revelation to us,” the teal-skinned Matriarch spoke up, “You have merely shown us that you are _less_ capable of being a trustworthy informant. Not more so.”

“Therefore,” the sky-blue Matriarch continued her peer's words, “You have simply wasted this conference's time. Perhaps Nephthia was correct. We _do_ have better matters to attend to.”

“Leave this hall, Mr. Teague,” the teal-skinned Matriarch spoke one last time, “and never return here.”

Horrified, Teague wilted as he looked around the room at the stone-faced Matriarchs he had so horribly disgraced. 

Defeated and speechless, Jonathan Teague stared down at the floor as he slowly walked back down the stairs and out of the conference hall.

 

* * *

 

Unable to even look at an asari by this point – such was his shame and embarrassment – Teague had hurriedly walked out of the conference building. He now found himself sitting on a curb, a few blocks away from where both his plans and his dreams had been simultaneously crushed.

He tried to think of anything he could do to salvage his scheme, but nothing came. Perhaps his stress over having been expelled by his superiors was stopping him from thinking clearly. No matter the reason, however, he found himself unable to conjure up any contingency plan.

He was as good as finished. It was that simple. Despite his meticulous planning, despite his daring escape to Thessia, and despite his achievement of an audience with the Matriarchs, it had all ended up being for nothing. There was no way for him to aid the asari. There was no way for him to help see them on their way to better things. All there was left for him to do was turn himself in to Alliance authorities – or do himself in. Neither were particularly pleasant choices.

The worst part of it all was that it had been due to Teague's own miscalculations that he found himself in this situation. Of course the Matriarchs would be offended by his deceit! How could they not be? Here he was, asking to be their informant, and he had given them faulty information about himself. To do that to an everyday asari was bad enough – but to do it to an entire conference of influential Matriarchs... that was suicide.

Teague sat on the curb, still not daring to look at any of the asari passing by. No doubt they were surprised to see a human in the middle of a Thessian city, and not without reason. Yet, for the first time in many years, Teague's thoughts were preoccupied not with asari culture, but human culture. In particular, his thoughts wandered to the history of Japan, and the ancient samurai ritual of seppuku.

While a man such as Teague certainly wasn't going to do something that messy and painful to himself, he increasingly thought that the only way to preserve any remaining hint of dignity he had left would be to finish himself off. After all, where else would he go? Stay on Thessia, and hope that he wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb? Certainly, he would stand only a very small chance of being discriminated against – but that was not the problem. He couldn't bear the dishonourable reminder he would undoubtedly bear witness to upon speaking with an asari now.

Where else? Go crawling back to the Alliance? Spend the next twenty years in a prison run by his sworn enemy? That was hardly an option; he'd probably end up hanging himself in the shower out of humiliation, anyway.

Pondering his bleak (and probably short) future, Teague stared at the ground, unable to do anything else for quite some time.

After several minutes, Teague was surprised to hear a sound emanating from his omni-tool – he had a new message. Intrigued even at this emotional nadir, Teague read the message silently:

 

_Mr. Teague,_

_I wish for us to meet. There is much for us to discuss. Come to the apartment building two blocks south of the conference building within the next fifteen minutes._

_-Matriarch Nephthia_

 

Unable to even speak for perhaps a solid minute, Teague kept reading the transmission over and over again, amazed at what it contained. Finally, he snapped out of his trance after having read “...within the next fifteen minutes” for the tenth or eleventh time. Literally jumping at this chance, Teague leapt to his feet and immediately began walking in the direction described in the message.

It was only a few minutes before he found the gargantuan structure Matriarch Nephthia had referred to. Teague had assumed that she was looking for privacy in choosing this as the place they would meet up at. This was just another good sign.

As he began to enter the complex, he was greeted by a tall, slender asari.

“Hello. The Matriarch is expecting you. Please come with me.”

With a businesslike air, the escort turned, Teague following closely behind. Several flights of stairs and sharp turns later, they finally ended up at their destination. The escort opened the door, and Teague followed her in.

The room they were in was lavish, despite its small size. As the hopeful defector looked around at his surroundings, he observed several doors leading to other rooms – this was definitely the Matriarch's private apartment. The unit itself was adorned with all manner of exotic horticulture, and this, coupled with the warm colour palette of the paintjob, created a cozy, tranquil atmosphere. This suited the needs of such a politically-active Matriarch as Nephthia, yet also contrasted strangely with her apparent tempestuousness. Teague hardly had time to process this information, however, before he was asked by the Matriarch to sit across from her. She sat, legs crossed, with a devious smile on her face. Whereas many would be unnerved by such a spectacle, Teague was far too excited to worry about it. Besides, he still trusted the asari without question, and whatever the Matriarch's will was, Teague as a human felt obligated to accept it.

“You may leave now, attendant,” Nephthia spoke to the tall asari who had escorted Teague. “Thank you for your help.”

Bowing and turning around, the escort left the room gracefully, closing the door with a modicum of sound.

“So, Mr. Teague,” Nephthia began, steepling her fingers at her lips, “You made a _very_ interesting proposition earlier.”

“Oh? I would have assumed you were just as offended by it as the others were, Matriarch.”

Snickering, the lavender-skinned asari replied, “Not at all! Quite the contrary, in fact. You must surely have noticed that I was entirely silent throughout the latter portion of your time with us.”

Teague thought about it for a moment, and realized that she was right. Despite all the piercing glares and outraged commotion, he had not once heard Nephthia cry out after her initial outburst.

“Actually, I find your outlook... _refreshing_ , Mr. Teague. There are precious few of your species who understand the sorry nature thereof. You are indeed correct: we are more-than-capable of taking much of the galaxy for ourselves. Of course, not yet – the Council powers are far too balanced for that.

“But if we were to defy convention in a radical-enough way,” Nephthia elaborated as she got to her feet, staring out a nearby window, “We could have it _all_. We _should_ have it all. There should be nothing holding us back. We are the rightful torch-bearers of this cycle, and we're the closest thing to an apex race it has.”

Teague merely listened intently, inspired by the Matriarch's impassioned monologue. This was his kind of asari. Most, if not all, of the asari he had encountered in the past were deluded as to their people's true potential. At best, they were unwilling to bear the thought of subjugating the rest of the galaxy, calling it “tyranny” and “insanity”. But not this one. She was different, and Teague felt the sincerity in her ambitious speech.

“Indeed – I am glad to see you agree, Matriarch,” Teague began, still in his seat. “I have not encountered many among your people who do – or among _any_ species who do.”

Nephthia scoffed and said, “That is because they are blind. But perhaps with your help, they can be shown the correct path – and the true destiny of the asari.”

She turned around to face Teague, her expression having changed to a cold, serious one.

“I would be more-than-honoured to take my rightful place at your disposal, Matriarch,” Teague said as he bowed his head with reverence. “I have always dreamed of seeing the galaxy being set in its rightful order, and it would validate my existence if I were to contribute to that process.”

“Validate?” Nephthia asked, continuing with her sly interrogation of Teague.

“Yes. I revile my humanity, and, obviously, there is no changing it. Therefore, the only way for me to live a life without regret is to resign myself to fate. I am a servant of the asari, and I repent my humanity.”

Nephthia paused, being slightly caught off-guard by Teague's zeal. She had gathered through implication that Teague was a misanthrope, but his dedication was beyond even obsession. It was bordering on psychosis.

This made him perfect for the job, of course; zealots didn't care whether they lived or died for the cause they believed in.

Grinning, Matriarch Nephthia sat back down in her seat.

“Do you already possess contacts, Mr. Teague?”

“I possess one, Matriarch,” Teague began, “And I have ways of keeping him in line, should the need arise. I am not afraid to do what it takes, I assure you.”

“That is good. If you are going to defect, however,” Nephthia pointed out, “You will need to have your recent travel information eradicated – anything within the last several weeks. Is there anywhere I should know about?”

“Yes, Matriarch, now that I think of it. The trial took place earlier today, and up till that point, I had been frequenting the Citadel.”

“I see. I will order a tech-team to erase your records from C-Sec's database. Anything else, Mr. Teague?”

“Not that I recall, Matriarch.” Teague had been keeping his head slightly bowed for the past few minutes, as a sign of submission and respect to his new employer.

“Alright, then. You will serve as an informant, but due to the disapproval of the other Matriarchs, you must report only to me. You will be in my private employ. We do not want a public scandal on our hands. Rest assured that your information will still go to good use, as I have a great many connections throughout our military and intelligence forces. We must, however, ensure that your contributions stay under the radar, so to speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Matriarch.”

“Good. You start immediately. Jonathan Teague, I hereby declare you an informant in the service of the Asari Republics.”

Teague shook her hand, before bowing once more.

“You may leave, Mr. Teague.”

“Thank you, Matriarch.”

As he left the room, Teague reveled in his accomplishment. He had done it. He was now an informant working for the asari. His ambition had been fulfilled, his plan successful.

Perhaps fate _had_ been monstrously unkind in making sure he had been born as a human. Perhaps he was not getting the exact role he had hoped for – being in the private employ of an influential Matriarch, rather than the Republics themselves. But he had done what he had set out to do. He had nothing left to reject now. He was, for the first time in over two decades, truly relieved. He had effectively shunned his connections to his species, and was now going to work towards the true destiny of the greatest species the galaxy had to offer.

That was what mattered. That was more than he could ever have hoped for.

 

* * *

 

Jonathan Teague awoke from his daydreaming, still laying on a sofa in the penthouse apartment allotted to him by the Matriarch. Having spent the last hour or so reliving the last eighteen years of his life in his head, he reasoned it was time to focus on the mission at hand. 

As he got to his feet and walked over to the balcony window of his apartment, he observed the orange horizon of his new home. The sun was setting on Thessia, and Teague couldn't help worry that this was a grim omen of the inevitable invasion. 

He had to keep going with his mission, but he now had an obnoxious thorn in his side: Commander Shepard, the famous human soldier who had warned the Council of the Reaper threat to begin with. Perhaps Shepard _did_ have an integral role to play in the conflict, but she was also hindering his operation – and that just wouldn't do. Besides, how much help could one human provide? Teague was under no illusions about his role – he was a tool of Matriarch Nephthia, and that was his rightful place as a human. Like so many others, Shepard was missing the bigger picture entirely.

Certainly, uniting the other species to fight against a common enemy would help win the war, and even Teague had to admit that he was impressed by Shepard's success in doing so thus far. But the best option, he reasoned, was to aid the asari in spearheading the assault. They had the best resources, both in terms of firepower and in terms of mind power. He hoped that everyone would come to their senses, but, in the meantime, he had some business to take care of.

He stared grimly at the horizon, and began to make mental preparations for his next operation.

The vice-councillor had urged him not to attend the festivities, for fear of being caught. This situation, however, had been a long time coming, and he needed to address his adversary face-to-face, at least for a few minutes. That was the only way he'd truly know what he was dealing with.

The true struggle was only now beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

“Liara? How did you know?”

Still frozen in place and scrambling to think of what to say, Liara attempted desperately to don a natural expression. After a further couple of seconds, she turned to face the commander and replied, “Well, isn't it obvious, Shepard?”

“Uh... no, it's not.” Shepard replied, puzzled and startled.

“I assumed that, had Arnold proved to be the defector, you would have captured him. Since you didn't, it was apparent to me that Teague was our next target.”

Shepard thought about this alibi, and concluded that it was technically sound. Liara wasn't there with them on the mission, and hadn't been told yet about how it had taken place. Therefore, she couldn't have known about the real reason why Arnold hadn't been apprehended.

Still, there was something strange about the way Liara was acting, and Shepard felt unsettled by it. Instantly realizing what she was implying with this line of thought, she pushed it out of her mind. Why would Liara lie to her? What possible reason could she have? Even Vega, when he had initially confronted Shepard regarding his accusations, had neglected to provide a conclusive motive for Liara's alleged betrayal.

Hesitating, Shepard said, “Well... alright, Liara. I believe you.” 

With an uneasy smile, Shepard turned and left Liara's office. Liara, meanwhile, immediately went back to her work, feeling drained and hollowed-out by having to continuously keep up this torturous act. 

_If I just tell her now,_ she thought, _I can stop this before it even happens._

She _couldn't_ tell her, though. What would happen if she did? For all she knew, maybe the asari needed the information Teague was providing – for weapons research, perhaps, or even to repurpose it for use on the Crucible project. She had no idea where the information was going (or even what the information was), and it was this uncertainty which had compelled her to take the vice-councillor's offer.

She suddenly received a transmission on her omni-tool, and opened the line immediately, dreading that it was Leydra Nancia again. To her anger, she found it was someone even more loathsome.

“Greetings, Dr. T'Soni,” Jonathan Teague began, bowing. “I believe it is you who is now my primary contact, correct?”

“It appears so,” Liara responded, a tone of remoteness in her voice. 

“Ah, good.”

“I have no information for you right now.”

“That is not why I wished to speak with you, doctor,” Teague explained. “I simply need to make sure that the operation will proceed as planned. If there are any bumps in the road, so to speak, it would be best to learn of them as soon as possible.”

Liara merely glared at Teague – it seemed to her like he was merely trying to rub salt into her wounds.

“Please, Dr. T'Soni,” Teague persisted. “Answer me.”

Liara said nothing, still staring at Teague with reproach.

“Alright,” Teague attempted again, starting to show annoyance. “I thought the Matriarch would have made it very plain that you were supposed to assist me in this matter. Right now, all I need is your confirmation that this is going to happen as we arranged.”

Surprised at Teague's words, Liara asked, “What Matriarch are you referring to, exactly?”

Teague looked for a second as though he had let something slip. He quickly regained his demeanour, and replied, “The Matriarch who helped me get this job, Dr. T'Soni.”

Before Liara could ask what Teague meant by this, he hastily continued, “Now, then. I must continue with my preparations.” Bowing with a slight flourish, he commented, “It was nice to finally meet you.”

With that, Teague disconnected from the conversation without even hearing the answer to his question.

_He didn't want to stick around, did he?_ Liara thought, trying to figure out what had just happened. It almost sounded as if Teague was working for a separate entity apart from the greater asari government – a splinter faction, perhaps. Though Thessian politics were usually smooth, this was sometimes only because of the rule of the majority, and did not always guarantee that there would be no dissent within the political arena. 

Liara started to think of the possibility that she was being used. Perhaps the Asari Republics didn't really need her, after all; perhaps Teague was in some renegade Matriarch's service, and was not expressly working for the greater good of Liara's people.

This dawning potentiality sent shivers down her spine. Though Liara T'Soni was usually a very logical person, occasionally even she had moments of vulnerability. In such a state, she quickly abandoned this idea – she couldn't be sure, and if she was wrong and decided to call the operation off, her entire species might pay with their lives. Feeling even worse than she did before, she returned to her work, but found it uncharacteristically hard to focus her attention on it.

Meanwhile, Commander Shepard continued to puzzle over the results of her brief confrontation with Liara. She wondered why her girlfriend, a person loyal, attentive, and caring almost to a fault, would act so evasively around her. It didn't seem to make any sense. Either Vega was correct in his condemnation of her, or there was something else bothering Liara.

Liara couldn't be capable of betraying Shepard... could she? They had been through so much together, and had always remained so honest and open with eachother through it all. What could possibly be dire enough to cause Liara to switch sides on her now?

_Nothing could,_ Shepard considered. _There's no way._ Shepard thought back to when she witnessed the confrontation between Liara and Vega. Though she hadn't seen the whole thing, she had seen enough to observe the vicious tenacity with which Vega was pursuing her. It was uncalled-for, even in the unlikely situation that Vega was correct. That alone was enough to get him kicked off the Normandy. Even worse, Shepard remembered, was the fact that Liara had felt it necessary to ready her biotics in self-defense (a fact Vega hadn't even noticed in his anger). As ruthless as she could be when dealing with clients as the Shadow Broker, she wasn't one to personally harm another person unless it was necessary. The fact that she had thought it was made Shepard's course of action obvious.

Feeling slightly more confident about her decision, Shepard headed to Deck 2 of the Normandy, and met Joker in the cockpit of the ship.

“Joker?” 

“Yeah, commander?” the pilot replied.

“Set course for Franklin. I'd like to stop by their naval base for a few minutes. There's something I have to do there, and it's the closest Alliance base to our whereabouts.”

“Aye-aye, commander,” Joker complied.

 

* * *

 

Shepard had never been to Franklin before. It was, she had gathered, a rather unremarkable planet. Colonized mainly to protect the nearby Alliance colonies on Watson, it had but one naval base, a meagre installation by anyone's standards. Regardless, it was an ideal place to ditch the unruly Lieutenant Vega. The commander was still having second thoughts about doing so, but she figured it was the only way for the present assignment to go forward unimpeded. Perhaps once Teague was apprehended, she would grant Vega his status aboard the Normandy again.

“It's an honour for you to have come to this base, Commander Shepard,” a gruff Alliance soldier said with sincerity, saluting her. “What appears to be the problem, ma'am?”

“I have a crew member whom I'd like to place into Alliance custody until further notice.” Shepard replied, returning his salute.

“I see. What did they do, if I may ask?”

“Insubordination, dissenting within the ranks – that sort of thing.”

“Are they to be court-martialled, commander?”

“No,” Shepard said quickly, not wanting to give the wrong idea, “No. I just need him off the ship until certain matters are attended to.”

“Ah. Well, who is this crew member?”

Turning to face the airlock of the Normandy, Shepard called for Vega to come out. He obliged, albeit with a deep frown of concern on his face.

“You're making a huge mistake, Commander,” Vega declared quietly.

Ignoring this comment entirely, Shepard turned back to meet the officer, and stated plainly, “This is Lieutenant James Vega. He's who I'll be putting into custody, if you would have him.”

“Of course, commander. Come right this way.”

Vega and the commander both followed the officer (who was the chief commanding officer of the Franklin naval base), eventually arriving at a standard holding cell.

“This is where he'll be staying, then?” Shepard asked.

“That's correct, commander. I'll go get the forms you'll need to sign in order for us to take him.”

As the officer walked away, Vega took the initiative, immediately trying to talk the commander out of what she was about to do.

“Commander, please! You can't do this!”

“Last I checked, James, _I_ was the commanding officer here. I don't see how you expected anything else to happen after how you were talking to Liara. In any case, it's a temporary measure.”

“It won't be temporary if you're _dead!_ ”

Before Shepard could launch her next rebuttal, the officer returned with the necessary paperwork. Shepard filled it out immediately, and handed it back to him.

“Excellent. That should be all I require from you, commander. I still need to have this filed, so,” the officer turned to face Vega, “If you could come with me, Lieutenant, that would be grand.”

While Vega and the officer headed off (presumably to an interim holding cell until the former could be properly incarcerated), Shepard stayed behind, looking at the surprisingly-roomy cell in which Vega would be staying for the immediate future. Rather well-furnished by the standards of a cell, she could tell it was intended for less-flagrant offenders of Alliance Military law. This put her mind at ease somewhat, and she began to make her way back to the Normandy.

_Perhaps now I can focus more on the actual assignment,_ she thought to herself.

Just then, however, Shepard heard Liara call her through her earpiece.

“Shepard?” Liara spoke.

“What is it, Liara?” Commander Shepard replied, surprised.

“I believe I've found where Teague is heading next. I'll go over it when you come back to my office.”

“Thanks, Liara. I don't know what I would do without you.”

Liara didn't respond.

 

* * *

 

Back on the Normandy, Shepard headed immediately to Liara's office, eager to find out what the asari Shadow Broker had uncovered. At this point, the assignment was beginning to take a toll on her sanity, and she couldn't wait to get it over with. It had been hard enough excising Vega from the crew, even temporarily, and in her heart of hearts, Shepard knew the real reason why she had done it. 

She didn't want to admit it, but the only way to get rid of the nagging feeling that Liara was setting her up was by removing the main source of such accusations from her ship. Her military side was uncomfortable with such an unprofessional choice on her part, but her more sentimental side advocated the move. She refused to believe that Liara was capable of such a thing, and kept trying to ignore any other possibilities.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to continue doing so.

“Alright,” Shepard began as she walked into the asari's office, “What do you have?”

“Ah, Shepard,” Liara greeted in a businesslike fashion. “I think you'll find this interesting. Like I said, I believe I know where Teague is headed.”

“Where?”

“It appears,” Liara explained, pointing to a readout on one of her information monitors, “That he's preparing to meet one of his contacts on Sanctum. I'm not surprised – the planet's climate provides the perfect cover.”

“One of his contacts?” The commander asked, confused. “I thought Arnold was his _only_ contact.”

“Evidently not. That isn't very surprising, either – I doubt he could have gained as much ground as he has with only one source, and it's possible my government is helping him find more.”

“I see,” Shepard assessed, again acknowledging the validity of Liara's logic. “Well, thanks, Liara. We'll head there shortly.”

“Of course, Shepard.”

As Shepard left for Joker's cockpit, she found herself more doubtful than ever. While Liara's reasoning was obviously plausible, the commander couldn't help feel as though there was something being hidden from her. It seemed that Liara had never before found any reason to make alibis or excuses for what she said – now, however, it was all she did. This troubled the commander greatly, and she found it difficult to come to grips with the increasingly-apparent possibility that...

No. That wasn't even conceivable! Her conscience scorned her for thinking such a thing, especially with the Reaper crisis taking place all around her. It was never a good idea to suspect one's friends, and least of all in a situation where they were the only support you had. She would just have to trust Liara, like she always had.

It was at this point that Shepard began reminiscing about her relationship with the brilliant asari. Even back when the commander and her crew were dealing with Saren, she found herself enthralled by Liara's innocent naïveté and startling scientific curiosity. Liara had it all: beauty, intelligence, and adorable charm. Their falling in love with eachother had been as inevitable as it had proven long-lasting. Shepard never had found any reason to defy Alliance regulations before – least of all those pertaining to relationships within the crew – but that had all changed when Liara had entered the picture. That fact alone was a testament to the power of their love for eachother.

Even two years later, when they reunited on Illium, Shepard maintained resolute faithfulness to their relationship. Though Liara had seemed cold and remote at first (barring that one wonderful kiss they shared), Shepard had rightly assumed that this had been due to her worry over being monitored by the former Shadow Broker. Not only that, but Liara had been the one to recover Shepard's body and quite literally bring her back from the dead – and in the employ of the only force willing to deal with the Collectors, no less! Of course, Cerberus wasn't the best option – but it had been the only one, and Liara had chosen it over the possibility of never seeing the commander again. In this way, she had chosen their love over everything else, and, literally speaking, their affection for eachother was thus able to defy even death itself.

So why, all of a sudden, was Liara so... evasive? So insincere? So... _un-Liara?_ Realistically, there was only one honest option which Shepard was able to think of.

_But it can't be!_ Shepard thought to herself, _Why would she do that? It doesn't make any sense!_

Noticing that this line of thought had made her brow furrow and her breath hasten significantly, the commander took a few deep breaths. It was all going to be alright; she was going to head to Sanctum and deal with Teague, and in doing so, she was going to prove Vega wrong. 

Wasn't she?

Shepard had just made it to Deck 2 of the Normandy when she was called over by Traynor.

“Commander?” Traynor asked.

“What is it, Traynor?” Shepard replied, somewhat inconvenienced by the interruption.

“Well, Admiral Hackett wants to speak with you. Something about a lead?”

A smile just barely curved at the edges of Shepard's mouth, and she thanked the comm specialist for her information. Immediately heading to the comm room, she tried to hold her excitement back as best she could. She was certain that Hackett was going to give her information concurrent with that which Liara had provided her only a few minutes previously. This was the proof she needed for the sake of her own sanity.

“Ah, commander,” Hackett spoke once Shepard had reached the room.

“Yes, Admiral?” Shepard asked with a customary salute, a serious expression reclaiming her face.

“We've found a lead on the whereabouts of Jonathan Teague.”

“I see. Where is he, sir?”

“We have reason to believe that he's headed to Illium for an important meeting with one of his superiors.”

Instantly, Shepard's face fell with disarmed horror. The news hit her with such sudden force that she didn't think to disguise her emotions. 

Understandably confused, the admiral asked, “Commander? What's the matter?”

Collecting herself with slight embarrassment, Shepard responded, “Uh, it's nothing, sir. Nothing's the matter.”

Unconvinced, but seeking to return to the matter at hand, Hackett continued, “I don't think I need to tell you that Teague is a very dangerous man. You should exercise extreme caution around him. He's willing to kill anyone who gets in his way – the man is a zealot, plain and simple. He'd probably kill his own _parents_ to get what he needs.”

Still gathering herself, Shepard saluted again, affirming, “Of course, sir.”

“Good. Hackett out.”

With a salute of his own, Hackett disconnected from the conversation, leaving Shepard to mull over the implications of the two contradictory leads.

Could it really be true? Could Liara really be setting Shepard up, in order to stop Teague from being apprehended? Why would she do such a thing? Was she really _that_ worried about her people? If that were the case, wasn't she aware of just how much was being done to stop the Reapers? Didn't she realize that such backstabbing only weakened the war effort at large?

There were a great many questions spinning around in the commander's head, and she was barely able to think, so muddled was her focus between them. Again, she stopped in the middle of her walk out of the comm room, and took a deep breath. 

She couldn't think about anything that ridiculous right now. She was going through enough, and worrying about this was just going to push her over the edge.

Shepard made her way over to Joker's cockpit with purpose – unsure of what to do, yet sure this was all she _could_ do.

She immediately began speaking to Joker, catching him slightly by surprise.

“Joker?”  
“Yeah, commander?”

“We need to head to Sanctum.”

 

* * *

 

The frigid surface of Sanctum proved as tempestuous as it was bleak. As Garrus, Tali, and Shepard clambered out of the shuttle catwalk, they all shivered slightly, unused to the howling winds and snowy climes which characterized this “habitable” area of the planet.

“I don't get it,” Garrus began. “People actually _live_ here?” 

“When you're a colonist, you don't always have the first pick in where you end up,” Shepard replied. “Take it from someone who knows.”

The building they were headed to was flanked to the south by a considerable clearing of grass, in turn hedged by a generous smattering of evergreen trees – the perfect cover for the Kodiak. The squad could relax a bit while they made their way to the large structure, but the mission would truly start once they got inside.

The walk to the building where the exchange was allegedly taking place had proved longer than first expected, and Garrus saw fit to have some of his concerns regarding the assignment addressed.

“Shepard,” Garrus started inquisitively, “How sure _are_ we that this is the right place?”

“Not you, too, Garrus...”

“I can't be the only one who's noticed Liara acting strangely lately. I mean, sure, she was right about Arnold working under our guy, but what about how she steered us away from going after him in the first place? Why not just cut to the chase?”

“Because, Garrus,” Shepard began, “It's like you said. She obviously felt that we wouldn't be able to find Teague right away. Considering that we now know he has the Asari Republics gunning for him, I'd say it was a valid conclusion to arrive at.”

Garrus remained silent, unsure of whether or not to trust this line of reasoning. Regardless, he and the rest of the team eventually found a back entrance into the building. They were taken aback by the dreary, utilitarian architecture of the building – and were doubly so upon entering.

Inside the building, the halls and rooms were conspicuously empty. Not a single person could be found or heard within, and the lack of lighting meant that the walls shone with an eerie blue tint. The building was not so much rundown as it was simply abandoned – though this did not make the squad feel any safer.

“I don't like the look of this,” stated Tali with an air of worry.

“I agree. This makes sense, though – where better to exchange information with a contact than in a building nobody enters?” Shepard pointed out with confidence.

Again, Garrus stayed noticeably silent. He didn't want to rock the proverbial boat, to use a human saying. If Shepard trusted Liara this much, who was he to challenge the decision? He didn't have enough evidence to directly accuse her of a set-up, so he would just have to assume, like the others, that it was all going to go off without a hitch. 

Tali, meanwhile, was in a similar state of mind, though not due to her own conclusions. She could tell from Shepard's and Garrus' uneasiness that something was very wrong (or, rather, had the potential to go very wrong) on this mission. Though she wasn't aware of exactly what was going on, her friends' and allies' worry was enough to make her unnerved about the situation.

Shepard was still trying to rationalize her decision. If she was wrong in trusting Liara, she could expect a particularly nasty ambush, most likely involving elite asari operatives. If such a thing were to happen, how could she ever justify her choice? Her gut instinct had been thoroughly-muddled on the issue, yet the very fact that there was some dissent in her thoughts should have told her right away what the best course of action had been. In defying her own intuition, Shepard had effectively broken one of her unspoken rules – and this made her even more concerned over the events which were going to unfold, one way or the other.

The squad continued to walk through the bottom floor of the neglected building, ensuring that it was secure. After a few minutes of searching, they concluded that it was sufficiently clear. This fact, however, was anything but reassuring.

“This doesn't feel right,” Garrus asserted. “If there was a big information exchange going down, you'd expect at least _some_ sort of security presence.”

“Maybe they valued a low profile over security, Garrus,” the commander proposed.

Again, her logic was technically sound, yet Garrus noticed a sense of grasping in Shepard's words. It was obvious to him that she was actively trying to make her decision seem worthwhile – a development that didn't exactly bode well for the matter at hand.

“Where do we go next?” Garrus inquired.

“We'd better continue moving up,” Shepard postulated. “That way, we can corner them once we figure out where they've set up shop.”

“Understood,” Garrus and Tali both stated.

Moving through the second floor of the establishment, it only took them a few moments to stumble upon a grandiose chamber. The room was foreboding in its expansive emptiness and total lack of discernible furnishing, save for a set of benches placed perpendicularly to eachother in the very centre. A lone balcony, oddly placed, was located on the far side of the room, extending into the one immediately next to it via a single doorway. It seemed likely that this room was once used to entertain guests at functions of some sort or another.

However, by far the strangest characteristic of the room was the set of four metal pylon-like objects extending from the ceiling, placed in a perfect square. They were just small enough (and high enough) to be inconspicuous, yet their surprisingly recent-looking sheen suggested they had been installed only a short time ago – very strange for such an otherwise-abandoned edifice.

“Listen, Shepard,” Garrus spoke, “I'm _really_ starting to get a bad feeling about this.”

The commander was just about to agree when a figure walked out from the balcony and greeted them.

“Hello, Commander Shepard!” Jonathan Teague exclaimed in a tone oozing with menacing jubilation, his surprisingly-projective voice able to bounce off the walls of the chamber towards them. “It is wonderful to finally meet you at last.”

With a mixture of satisfaction and imperiousness, Teague steepled his fingers at his middle, carrying an air of sophistication and level-headedness.

“So,” Shepard spoke as she and the rest of the squad walked closer to the balcony, “ _You're_ Jonathan Teague.”

“That's correct!”

“Why are you doing this?” Garrus interjected, raising his pistol along with the others.

Chuckling slightly, Teague replied, “Why, indeed? It must have seemed strange to you people, at first, that a human would defect to another species' government. But I assure you, it is anything but. It is, in fact, eminently natural – more so,” Teague turned his attention directly to Shepard, “than if I had elected to stay with your pitiful Systems Alliance.”

Noticing the bite of disdain which laced his pronunication of the name of his own species' government, Shepard retorted, “What do you have against the Alliance, Teague?”

“What _don't_ I have against them? An even harder question to answer than yours would be: 'What do I detest _most_ about them?' Their indecisiveness? Their boorish and uneducated insistence that humans should automatically be considered on equal terms with the established species of Council space? Their fervent belief that, somehow, just by virtue of being human, my contemptible excuse for a species should have a foothold in galactic proceedings? The list seems endless, honestly.”

“Of _course_ they're trying for equality!” Tali piped up. “That's only pragmatic!”

“You give my people too much credit, madam,” replied Teague with pitying dismissiveness, “And you are not the only one, it seems. Even the Matriarchs themselves largely refuse to understand what must be done.”

“Which is?” Shepard snarled.

Taking a slight breath to collect his thoughts, Teague began pacing across the balcony, as if he were a professor or counselor elaborating upon an important point. “I have always believed, as you are no doubt aware by this point, that there is something about the asari which places them above every other species in the known galaxy. Obviously, there are the readily-apparent aspects of their culture and biology to take into consideration; yet, there is also something more... _ineffable_ about them. Something which fills me with a sense of awe. Something which signifies their being greater than the sum of their parts.”

“Yeah,” Shepard responded, “It's called a 'delusion'.”

Ignoring the commander's statement entirely, Teague continued as if nothing had been said. “The Reaper attack on Earth only brought this belief to the forefront for me. It is blatantly clear to me that the asari are the best choice to spearhead the war effort against those monsters. They are the most precious race the galaxy has to offer, and so, they have everything to lose. Yet, they also possess the most power, in terms of both raw capability and political and economic presence – and therefore,” Teague said, stopping his pacing with a wide smile, “they have everything to _gain_.”

“What are you getting at?” Tali questioned, her eyes narrowing suspiciously underneath her suit at this cryptic pronouncement.

“What I am getting at, my quarian compatriot,” Teague said as he turned his attention to her, “Is that the asari should take every advantage they can get – not just over the Reapers, but over other Council species, as well. They are the most powerful, and the most diplomatic; are they not our best representatives? Will they not prove our greatest and most-benevolent overseers? Should they not have exclusive domination? _Is this not simply the natural order of things?_ ”

“You're insane,” Shepard replied bluntly, pistol still raised.

Teague silently chuckled, amused at Shepard's lack of understanding. A purple-skinned asari dressed in a formal robe walked out from the balcony to join him, and immediately rested her hands on his shoulder, looking up at him with affection. Teague looked back down at her with a smile.

“ _Vice-councillor?_ ” Garrus blurted out, stunned that a Council representative was in league with Teague, so to speak.

“Yes? What of it?” Leydra replied harshly, looking directly at the turian.

“Why is someone like you with someone like Teague?” Shepard asked, herself greatly surprised.

“Why else?” the asari vice-councillor spoke as she glided from Teague's side and addressed the squad as a whole. “Because I believe in what he has to say.”

“So, you're just as conceited as he is, then? I thought you people were better than that,” Garrus seethed, his trademark zeal for justice showing brilliantly. “And to think, the Council trusts you in the event of your Councillor dying.”

“That's their loss, turian,” Leydra waved her hand dismissively, a condescending tone permeating her voice.

“I think you had best retire, Leydra,” Teague spoke to her with some concern.

Leydra nodded, then left the balcony, leaving Teague alone with the squad again.

“Enough! You're coming with us, Teague! Whether you like it or not!” Shepard yelled. “I'm glad I went with this lead, after all – she was right about you being here.”

“Firstly, commander,” Teague addressed, irritation beginning to become apparent in his tone, “I hardly think I will be going anywhere with _you_. Secondly, is this person who led you to me Dr. T'Soni, perchance?”

Caught off-guard by Teague's mentioning of Liara, Shepard unconsciously lowered her pistol slightly, and stammered, “What?”

“I see you haven't caught on, yet, then,” the defector reasoned with a smirk. “She's been in on this whole charade for quite awhile, now. I'm impressed that she managed to keep it a secret for all this time.”

Hesitating, Shepard's face twisted into an expression of incensed disbelief. “ _You're lying._ ”

“I assure you that I would have no reason to lie, commander. Dr. T'Soni has proven quite useful in obscuring my operations. I trust you remember how Tartarus went? Had it not been for the recklessness of my... _former_ contact,” Teague implied with chilling accuracy, “Such misdirection would scarcely have been necessary. Regardless, I salute the good doctor for having been willing to step up for the asari. She will be rewarded, in time, with the unchallenged supremacy of her species.”

Too shocked to speak, Shepard merely stood there, mouth agape.

“And best of all,” Teague spoke as a wide, unnerving smile broke across his face, “She led you directly to me.”

The entire squad was speechless, unable to absorb the information Teague had just let them in on.

“Now, then!” Teague said, his manner abruptly returning to the mock-jubilation which had characterized his entry into the room, “I am afraid I must be going. Unfortunately, _you_ will not be.”

“What?” Shepard finally exclaimed, pistol raised again. “You're not going _anywhere!_ ”

“Oh, I beg to differ, Commander Shepard,” Teague said, raising his right arm up to its fullest length. Turning his glance to the far end of the room (where the squad had entered from), Teague snapped his fingers, shouting, “Ladies?”

Morbidly curious as to who the megalomaniacal man was referring to, Shepard and the others turned around, and were horrified by what they saw. Walking out of the shadows from all sides of the dimly-lit chamber were no less than six asari commandoes (the same entourage as before, from the looks of things). Each of them were fully-armed and, evidently, well-trained; their stealth skills must surely have lived up to legend if they had been able to remain undetected for all this time.

Even worse, one of the commandoes put in a string of commands on her omni-tool, causing the strange protrusions on the ceiling of the room to become active. As they glowed with a soft, blue light, Shepard's squad found that their shields crashed instantly.

“Shield disruptors!” Garrus cursed, trying to remain calm.

“ _Get to cover! Move!_ ” Shepard yelled, pointing to the square of seats as she sprinted to them.

Meanwhile, Teague was already making his way out of the room, and Shepard swore she could hear him laughing heartily at the ambush.

The perimeter of furniture, now a temporary foxhole for the entire squad, was ingeniously-placed to ensure that Shepard and company were directly beneath the shield disruptors. This meant that escape until every last commando had been taken care of was absolute suicide. Shepard wondered for a moment why it was that the commandoes had activated the disruptors, when their shields, too, would be affected by them. It quickly became apparent, however, that the commandoes didn't _need_ shields – they were deadly on their own, and they had the element of surprise, anyway.

Such a staggering ambush hardly required any sort of finesse, and the detachment of commandoes obviously realized this. They preferred pounding the perimeter of cover with unceasing suppressing fire, their shots being offset from eachother's such that at least two of the agents would always be firing at any given time. It was brilliant, and again showcased the tactical accomplishments afforded by the luxury of having spent at least a half-century in military training.

Shepard and her squad, however, had no time to focus on admiring their adversaries; they were finding it difficult to stay low enough to avoid getting shot, largely due to the cramped space they were holing up in. So far, not one of them had been able to return fire. The squad lacked any way to soak up damage without taking a round to the face in the process, and the commandoes' offset firing technique ensured that they could keep reloading without letting up. 

“This is quite the situation, huh, Shepard?” Tali exclaimed over the deafening din of neverending gunfire.

“You can say that again!” Shepard replied.

“What do we do now?” Garrus inquired, still waiting for a lull in hostilities.

“There isn't much we _can_ do, other than keep trying to return fire!”

As if taking Shepard's words literally, Tali waited for a few moments before recklessly attempting to line up a shot. Rising from cover, the quarian raised her submachine gun, and was nearly able to get a shot in before a burst of assault rifle fire hit her in the arm with great force and precision, knocking her gun out of her hand and puncturing her suit. Garrus, instinctively worried over his partner's welfare (all the more so due to their blossoming relationship), left cover without thinking, prompting the commandoes to take full advantage of the situation. All six of them ferociously fired a stream of rounds directly at Garrus' body, and though the sniper's armour was impressively protective, it sustained numerous lacerations. The turian was sent spiralling to the ground, unconscious – yet still plainly alive.

Throughout the last few moments, Shepard had watched in terror as her squad had been mercilessly ripped apart in a matter of seconds. However, the occurrence had presented Shepard with one very important opening, and she realized this upon noticing the conspicuous lack of gunfire.

The fact that all of the commandoes had concentrated fire on Garrus may have meant that he was taken care of more quickly, but it also meant that every one of the aggressors had now spent their thermal clip. Seizing the opportunity, Shepard rose from cover and lined up her shots with expert efficiency, taking aim at the commando who was nearest to reloading her weapon. Shepard's aim was true, and the commando fell to the ground, dead. 

Going on the offensive while she still had a few seconds to do so, Shepard mantled over the seats and fired a stream of rounds from her Mattock as she strafed over to a nearby supporting pillar. It was a risky move – a thin stone pillar didn't exactly scream “bulletproof” – but it was all she could do at this point. If she didn't try to attack back, she was, along with Garrus and Tali, as good as dead.

Luckily, Shepard's action had required the commandoes to abandon their tactic of suppressing fire. It had now become a more normal firefight – albeit one in which the commander was outnumbered, five-to-one.

With every passing shot fired, Shepard's thoughts gravitated more and more to one thing.

_Why, Liara? What would make you do this?_

Shepard ducked out from the pillar every few moments, returning a few rounds with her assault rifle. Eventually, she managed to take out another commando, a shot in the upper chest sending her falling instantly to the ground with a muted yelp.

With this, she moved forward to the next pillar, trying desperately to sustain the momentum of her attack. There was one good thing about this form of cover – though not especially defensible, it was also immobile, meaning that Shepard was largely safe from the commandoes' biotics. They had so far been unable to employ them even once – a feat which Shepard would no doubt have been proud of, had she not been focusing so intently on merely staying alive.

_After all these years, you betray us? What did we do to deserve this?_

Another burst of shots hurtled at lightning-speed from Shepard's assault rifle, striking another commando in the hand. As she foolishly stumbled out from her cover in pain, Shepard fired again, hitting her in the stomach a few times and taking her out of commission.

_I can't believe it's true! How_ could _you, Liara?_

The fourth commando's gun jammed while it was reloading, prompting Shepard to take advantage of the situation by implanting a burst of rounds in her chest.

The fifth was taken out after Shepard had attempted to cross the room. They met face-to-face, and just as the commando was readying a biotic attack, she was struck in the wrist, and then two times in the upper chest.

Having lost count by this point, the exhausted Commander Shepard mistakenly assumed she had finished off the detachment. She broke from cover for just a few seconds – but that was all that was needed.

The sole surviving commando, understandably enraged that her entire squad had been killed, unleashed a wave of biotic energy at Shepard from behind, sending the commander flying facefirst onto the ground. The asari walked with purpose up to Shepard, presumably meaning to take her out up-close and personal. However, Shepard drew her sidearm with admirable speed, and before the commando could react, Shepard turned over and fired a full clip into the commando's torso. The final malefactor hit the floor.

Panting with sheer fatigue and stress, the beleaguered commander slowly walked back to the perimeter of seats, mantling over it and checking on Garrus and Tali. While Tali was conscious, it was obvious that the injury inflicted to her suit was already beginning to take its toll on her, and she was too caught up in the situation to speak. Garrus, meanwhile, remained entirely unconscious. 

“Cortez?” Shepard called into her earpiece, showing concern in between her heavy breaths, “Cortez!”

“Yes, ma'am? What's wrong?” Cortez replied, unaware of the direness of the situation, but detecting the worry in Shepard's voice.

“I need an evac, and immediate medical attention for the squad!”

“Understood, ma'am. On my way right now.”

 

* * *

 

Liara didn't even attempt to disguise her immense sorrow at this point. She fully expected Teague to unveil her complicity in the set-up, and therefore, felt that her act was essentially at its torturous end. She had wrestled with herself all throughout this assignment, but never had she truly understood the gravity of her actions until Shepard, Garrus, and Tali set foot on Sanctum. Instantly, she had experienced a hollowing pang of remorse, one that was both inescapable and crippling. She had cried for several minutes in her office, and it was only now that she felt able to walk in the presence of the rest of the crew without bursting into tears.

She needed to apologize to Shepard. She knew in her heart there was no way that was going to be enough, but maybe it could at least prove to be a step in the right direction. Perhaps the way she looked would testify to her regret; she was a wreck, her eyes tearing and her brow furrowed. Liara couldn't help but keep her gaze fixated firmly at the ground; she didn't feel she had the privilege of looking the crew in the eyes anymore. Regardless, something caught her eye as she traversed Deck 3 of the Normandy.

Looking over at the Med Bay, she could see two figures arriving on stretchers. One was unconscious, and the other was in similarly-grievous condition. This on its own would already have proved concerning to Liara, but the fact that the figures were her fellow squadmates – the ones she had set up, no less – made her little short of hysterical.

“ _Goddess, no!_ ” She swore, a hand clasped to her mouth in horror.

Walking briskly over to the Med Bay once Garrus and Tali had been brought in, Liara was immediately seen by a distraught-looking Dr. Chakwas, who met Liara at the door with a venomous look on her face.

“I don't think you need to be here, Liara,” Chakwas spoke coldly.

“But, doctor... they're –”

“They're not your concern right now – and frankly, I doubt they'd wish to see you, given the shape they're in.”

Liara could see that Dr. Chakwas was effectively blocking Liara from entering any further, and simply nodded with anguish, conceding the argument. She couldn't blame the doctor; like any good medical professional, Chakwas was concerned for her patients first. Not only this, but she had been a crew member of the Normandy for even longer than Liara herself had been; it was only natural, then, that the doctor would be defensive. Liara was actually surprised she was showing so much restraint.

She had almost gotten her friends killed, – actually, whether they lived or not remained to be seen – and for what? The fleeting chance that some hopefully-vital information of unknown reliability might wander into the hands of the Asari Republics in time for them to have a slightly-better chance at accomplishing something that required the entire military capacity of the known galaxy anyway? She had no idea why she had ever agreed to such a horrible idea – and she knew even less why she had kept up her act for so long. 

Liara concluded that at least part of the reason had to be due to her worry that Shepard would be angry over the arrangement. But, she thought, one of Shepard's most-endearing features was her forgiving nature; as long as Liara had been honestly apologetic, there would have been a very good chance of Shepard forgiving her. Not only that, but even a Shepard furious with her for the rest of her life would be infinitely preferable to one who had gotten killed in action... again.

Barely able to hold herself together, Liara felt the need to hasten her search through the Normandy. She had to know where Shepard was, and if she was alright. That was priority number one. 

Taking the elevator up to Deck 2, Liara and Traynor immediately made eye contact, though only for a second; the latter gave her a brief, uncomfortable look, then returned to her work with nothing said. Again, the remorseful asari couldn't blame Traynor – but somehow that didn't make the situation any easier on her.

Walking further still, she made it to Joker's cockpit.

Upon noticing Liara out of the corner of his eye, the pilot dismissively asked, “What do _you_ want?”

Hesitating due to her being unused to such gruffness, Liara quietly replied, “Joker, I...”

“Speak up. I couldn't hear you.”

“...I need to know where Shepard –”

“Sorry. Can't help you.”

With that, Joker returned to piloting the Normandy, having never fully turned around to face Liara in the first place. Word travelled quickly across the ship, it seemed.

Just as Liara turned to walk away, however, EDI came up behind her. Liara had figured, in the back of her mind, that at least EDI would have understood her actions, if only from a pragmatic perspective.

Evidently, she had been mistaken.

EDI glared at Liara for perhaps two or three seconds, before abruptly turning her glance away. She shouldered past Liara with purposeful rudeness, and sat down at her usual station in the cockpit.

Growing increasingly devastated (all the more so due to her treatment being entirely justified), Liara walked back to the elevator, and opted to try one more destination: Deck 1, the Captain's Cabin. 

Upon the elevator doors opening at her destination, she indulged in a deep breath. She walked over to Shepard's cabin and knocked three times on the door, terrified with each knock that there would be no answer. Several seconds passed, and Liara resolved to knock again. Still, there was nothing.

Partially out of worry over Shepard's well-being, and partially out of frustration at herself, Liara shouted, her voice cracking slightly, “ _Shepard! Open the door! It's me! We need to talk about this!_ ”

Even now, after Shepard must surely have heard the emotion soaking her voice, there was no sign of any reply from the other side of the door. With one last resigned sigh, Liara's lip began to quiver. Her eyes closed tightly, attempting to hold back the flood of tears which was now rushing over her cheeks without end. What began as restrained weeping soon gave way to agonized wailing, as she realized fully the implications of what she had done.

She had set her friends and beloved partner up to die. The same people who would have given their lives for her safety (gladly, in the latter case).

She had left them for dead in the name of a poorly-educated gamble, and against her better judgement. She had left them because of her fragile indecision and petty concerns over arrangements of likely-negligible importance.

She had possibly gotten two of them killed, with the third – the most important of them to her, in all truth – refusing to speak with her, or even acknowledge her existence.

There was no returning to the way things were after something like this, and Liara understood her fate as she slumped against the wall outside the cabin and down to the floor, still unable to hold her emotions back.

After some time, Liara felt as though she had no more tears left in her body to cry. She sniffled slightly, her frown still miserable as ever, and slowly got to her feet. She walked to the elevator again, and went back to Deck 3, hoping to retire to her office for the night (and possibly longer).

Still with her gaze directly fixed at the ground, she aimlessly opened the door to her office. As she raised her head, what she saw shocked her incalculably.

“Looks like Vega was right, after all,” Shepard growled as her fiery stare bored into Liara. “You _are_ beyond reproach.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Liara stood there for several seconds, stunned at Shepard's unexpected presence in her office. The upside of this situation was that Shepard obviously wished to speak with her; the downside was that the commander was furious to a degree Liara had rarely ever seen before.

Evidently, the asari had been rendered speechless for longer than she had first realized, as Shepard soon asked, “Well? What have you got to say for yourself, Liara?”

Still unswerving in her anger as she sat, legs and arms crossed, in Liara's usual spot, the commander looked as though she was prepared for a marathon argument. Liara could tell she was going to have an uphill battle ahead of her, but she felt it imperative to at least try to explain her actions. 

Before Liara could open her mouth to speak, Shepard continued, “This might be your only chance to justify what you did. You're lucky I'm even giving you this much. If it weren't for our history together,” Shepard rose to her feet, trembling with indignant betrayal and pointing a finger at Liara, “I don't know _what_ I'd be doing right now.

“Why did you do it, Liara? Huh? What could possibly have driven you to set us up like that? To set _me_ up like that?” The commander continued as she placed a hand on her chest, trying to stop her voice from giving way. “I trusted you. I've _always_ trusted you! I've never had a reason not to, until now! What were you _thinking_ , Liara?”

The remorseful Shadow Broker could plainly see that her lover was fighting tooth-and-nail against every impulse in her body. It was like her entire person was vibrating, holding taut in an effort to retain her composure. This proved to be in stark contrast to Shepard's usually-steadfast demeanour, and Liara felt even more guilty upon observing this. She began to walk up to Shepard, and attempted to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Shepard, I –”

“Don't even try it!” Shepard snapped as she pushed Liara's hand away, stepping back a bit in protest against the action.

Looking hurt, Liara continued, “Shepard, please! You have to understand!”

“What do I need to understand, Liara? That you took advantage of the trust I had in you? That you aided the enemy? That you systematically tried to dismantle this entire operation without even a second thought?”

“Now, hold on just a minute, Shepard!” Liara retorted, her defensiveness piqued by her significant other's erroneous assault on her loyalty. “You can be angry with me all you want – I deserve as much – but you can _not_ tell me I never had a second thought about it! If you even _knew_ how heartbroken I was over this –”

“Then _why did you do it?_ You _still_ haven't answered me!” Shepard raged, her fury returning as she threw her arms in the air in frustration.

“Shepard, do you even _realize_ what danger my people are in?” Liara asked, her anger evident in her tone. Shepard merely turned around with a grimace, unwilling to accept this as an excuse despite her silent concession of its validity. Liara, outraged at this display, grasped for words for a moment before exclaiming, “ _Look at me!_ ”

The commander whirled around again, facing Liara with direct eye contact. Unintimidated, Liara continued her train of thought: “Whether it sounds arrogant or not, the simple fact is that the asari are in many ways the most-advanced sentient species in the entire galaxy! Where do you think that puts us on the Reapers' list of priorities?”

Shepard remained silent, breaking eye contact for a few moments as she glanced uncomfortably to her side. This showed Liara that her point was beginning to sink in, causing her to spell it out for her: “The top.”

Not one to concede an argument, even if only out of sheer tenacity, Shepard responded, “But did you really think that enabling the supply of information from _one man_ to your people's government was going to help matters at all? Especially when the Alliance is working so closely with the rest of the galaxy!”

“I had to try _something!_ The Asari Republics still haven't committed significant military forces to the war effort, Shepard! Meanwhile, I've been able to _see_ what the Reapers do firsthand – it horrifies me that my people might yet go _extinct_ because they can't be bothered to take action!”

Emotions were running high for both parties, and it looked as though their love for eachother was the only reason the argument wasn't devolving into a brawl.

“The Crucible project is our best chance for stopping the Reapers! You found the schematics for the damned thing! You of all people should know that, Liara!”

“And what if it's not enough, Shepard?” Liara challenged, her insecurities being channelled into ammunition, “What if, after all the work we put into building the Crucible, it doesn't end up doing _anything?_ What if it backfires and makes things _even worse?_ Then, my people really _are_ in trouble!”

“Is that all you can think about?” Shepard seethed, her anger boiling over, “ _Your_ people? _Your_ fate? _Your_ everything?What about the rest of us? What about Earth? What about Palaven? _Do you even care?_ The Reapers haven't even _set foot_ on Thessia yet! You should consider yourself lucky!”

“ _Lucky?_ Is that what you call it when you have to spend every waking moment torturing yourself over the possibility of total annihilation? Of your species, your culture, your –”

“I know that feeling, Liara, and don't you _dare_ imply that I don't!” Shepard roared with an impassioned wave of her hand. “The only way the asari are ever going to stand a chance is if they stand with the rest of the galaxy! But of course, _you_ just keep acting like no one else knows what you're going through! Like you're just _so_ different from everybody else! Isn't that exactly what the Asari Republics are saying? That they need to attend to their own matters first? Talk about selfish!”

Liara's indignation reached an entirely new level at this point, and she was wholly unable to recall a single point in her relationship with Shepard where she had been this angry with her.

“ _What did you just say?_ ”

“ _I said,_ ” Shepard hissed, a sort of incensed quietness permeating her voice, “ _That the asari are selfish._ ”

Unable to assure for any longer that she would not harm Shepard, Liara glared at the commander and said, “Get out. It's my office.”

“It's my ship.”

“ _I don't care! Get out!_ ”

Shepard, just as enraged as Liara, acquiesced out of sheer unwillingness to continue talking with her. Her furrowed brow persisted as she walked out the door (which, had it not been automatic, she would likely have slammed shut upon her exiting). Liara waited for a few seconds, boiling mad, before letting out a loud scream of frustration. She sat down in the chair Shepard had been sitting in upon the beginning of the argument, and held her head in her hands.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Commander Shepard,” Doctor Chakwas greeted as she noticed Shepard enter the Med Bay, “What brings you here? You look... troubled.”

“It's nothing,” Shepard stated unconvincingly, shaking her head slightly. “I'm here to check up on Tali and Garrus. How are they holding up?”

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Chakwas replied, though not without some concern evident in her tone. “They'll both recover fully, I expect, but it'll take time.”

“How much time?”

“Well,” Chakwas elaborated, leading Shepard over to the two beds on which Tali and Garrus were presently located, “Tali appears to have contracted a bad bacterial infection due to the laceration in her suit. Quarian immune systems are tricky things, commander. I'm giving her an aggressive antibiotic treatment, which should help curb any damage, but I'd still say it'll take a week or so before she's ready for deployment again.”

The doctor turned to face Garrus, who was, like Tali, still unconscious. Shepard followed suit.

“Garrus' situation, on the other hand,” Chakwas continued, “Is a little more dire.”

“What do you mean?”

“He sustained heavy damage to his abdominal area, chest, and back. I'm surprised he's in as good shape as he's in – if you hadn't gotten back as quickly as you had, he may have bled to death.”

“But,” Shepard asked, looking down at Garrus with worry, “You said he'll recover fully, right?”

“Yes,” Chakwas assured, “But I also said it will take some time. I doubt he'll even be fully conscious for another week, and I don't think he'll be ready for action for awhile after that.”

Shepard scowled, realizing that this development set their progress back significantly – not only insofar as this mission was concerned, but with regards to their greater objective, as well. She hated having to think in such a utilitarian way when two of her closest friends and allies were in such unfortunate condition, but she couldn't help it. She had to, considering the odds stacked against her. 

“Alright. Thanks for telling me, Doctor.”

“Of course, commander. Is there anything else you need?”

“Just for you to keep helping them.”

“Yes, commander.”

Shepard walked out of the Med Bay, heading back to the main deck of the Normandy to speak with Joker. She was indeed relieved to find that Tali and Garrus were showing signs of recovery, but if she was truly going to make things right, there was one more thing she needed to attend to.

 

* * *

 

As Shepard gazed out a nearby window at the nondescript horizon of Franklin, she thought about how she had wronged Vega. He had been right all along, and had tried to warn the commander. Though his accusations had proven immensely difficult for her to digest, Shepard knew now that she had been entirely wrong in shutting his concerns out from her realm of possibility. The least she could do was to get him back onboard the Normandy.

“Hello, Commander Shepard,” the same commanding officer from before spoke, “Back again so soon?”

“Yeah,” Shepard replied, turning to face him, “I appear to have...” She hesitated, finding the right words, “Misunderstood some things. I need Lieutenant Vega back aboard the Normandy as soon as possible.”

Taken slightly aback, the officer replied, “I see. I'll go get him. I'll also sign him out of custody for you.”

The two saluted eachother, with Shepard thanking him.

It was only a matter of minutes before the commander saw Vega walking around, free of imprisonment. Shepard gave a quick, sharp wave to beckon him over, and, upon seeing this, the lieutenant complied.

“Commander,” Vega began, having already figured out why he had been summoned back to the Normandy, “I'm sorry about what happened.”

“Don't be,” Shepard said with a slight shake of her head. “You were the one who tried to warn me. If anyone should be sorry, it's me, James.”

Vega gave an uncomfortable nod, still unsure of what to say in this situation. He was happy to see that the commander was alive, but what of the others?

“Ma'am?” Vega asked as the two began walking back to the Normandy.

“Yes?”

“It's good to see you're alright. But what about the rest of the squad?”

Shepard hesitated, stopping in her tracks as she thought of the set-up again. Her fists clenched impulsively, and as she resumed her walk with renewed forcefulness, she replied, “Doctor Chakwas says Tali's going to make a full recovery. Garrus will, too, but...”

Alarmed at the commander's trailing off, Vega implored, “...But?”

With a frown of deep concern, Shepard continued, “But his wounds are serious. Those commandoes tore right into him. He was trying to protect Tali.”

Vega remained silent, out of reverence.

Shepard continued further, “I can't believe Liara set us up. It took everything I had not to shove her out the airlock.”

“Commander, you don't mean that.”

“Don't I?” Shepard retorted as she turned to face Vega, stopping again.

With a look that might have signified slight regret, Vega elaborated, “Liara was only trying to help her people. I told you about how things were going down because I wanted to give you a heads-up, not because I wanted you to push her out of your life.”

With this, Vega stopped in mid-walk, compelling Shepard to also pause.

“Now, I know you need to keep your relationship with her on the down-low for regulations' sake. But that doesn't mean that your love for her – and hers for you, too – is less obvious. I see the way you look at her. You don't just 'like' her, commander – you don't even just 'like' her a lot. You look out for her. You're loyal to her. You _love_ her.”

Disarmed by this unexpectedly-sincere pep talk, Shepard merely donned a look of miserable confusion, as if unsure of what to do with Liara in this situation. She continued walking to the Normandy, Vega following closely behind, and they soon made it back to the ship. 

As Shepard began to enter the ship, she hesitated one more time. Without turning around to face him, Shepard noted to Vega, “But what kind of person would let the one they love get killed?”

 

* * *

 

Shortly after heading back to the Normandy with Vega, Commander Shepard had set the voyage to Illium in motion. The collective outrage over Liara's betrayal had simmered down to a strong distaste, but the asari herself hadn't been seen by anyone since the argument. Shepard figured that she was busy lamenting her grandiose breach of trust, and, usually, the commander would be all-too-willing to help her through it.

But not this time.

There were many reasons Shepard wanted to get this (hopefully) last deployment over with, however. One was the same reason which she had kept in mind throughout the mission – efficiency. The sooner she and her crew got Teague handed in to Alliance custody, the faster they could get back to dealing with the Reaper threat.

There was another primary reason, however, and it was one which even Shepard couldn't fully admit to herself. As soon as the set-up had taken place, this mission had ceased to be just another run-of-the-mill assignment. As soon as Tali had her suit lacerated, and Garrus had been practically ripped to shreds, the mission had become altogether more personal. And as soon as Shepard had found out that Teague's master plans had driven the wedge of blackmail through her and Liara's relationship, it had become even more so.

Obviously, Shepard was still livid with Liara over what she had done; after Vega's conversation with her, however, she found herself softening slightly. As mad as she found herself at her asari partner, she couldn't help but think that, had Teague never put his misguided plans in motion, and had the vice-councillor never contacted Liara, they wouldn't be where they were now. That was what _really_ made her angry.

Shepard didn't doubt, either, that Garrus was going to be boiling mad when he awoke from his unconsciousness. Tali and Garrus, it seemed to the commander, were slowly becoming entwined in a relationship of their own, and the fact that Garrus, a seasoned veteran of the battlefield, would so recklessly leave cover to verify the quarian admiral's welfare only backed this point up further. In reciprocity, it was inevitable that Tali would be vengeful herself over what had happened to her turian partner.

All in all, the squad was in a great mindset to accomplish their objective – _if_ two-thirds of them didn't prove to still be unconscious during the remainder of the mission.

Commander Shepard figured, with what all had happened in the past few hours, that she had best provide another status report to Admiral Hackett. It was doubtful he was going to be particularly happy with the direction things had taken, but duty came first.

She set the meeting up with Traynor, and headed for the comm room. As Hackett's likeness manifested before her, she gave the customary greeting salute.

“What's the situation, commander?” Hackett asked, getting straight to the point.

“I just thought you should know we're headed for Illium now, sir,” Shepard replied.

“Illium? Commander, I would have thought you would have finished up by now,” Hackett said, more alarmed than unimpressed.

Looking to the side for a moment, Shepard returned her attention to the admiral before reluctantly stating, “We ran into a few... setbacks.”

“What kind of setbacks?”

“There was a traitor in the crew, sir,” the commander stated with a sigh.

“A traitor? You mean, someone on the Normandy was working with Teague?”

“That's correct, sir.”

“Who was it?” Hackett implored, urgency and worry colouring his voice.

Hesitating, and immediately pushing away all emotion from her mind, she bluntly declared, “Liara.”

Greatly surprised by this development, the admiral paused for a second. His face didn't display any worry, but it had become contorted grimly. 

“I see. I assume she'll be put to trial, then, commander?”

“With all due respect, admiral,” Shepard began, “I'd rather avoid a court-martial. I have the situation under control.”

His face no less unsettled, Admiral Hackett responded, “Alright, commander. I'm trusting your judgement on this one, though I must say I'm perplexed by your decision.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I'm assuming you need to know where you're headed once you touch down on Illium?”

“Yes, admiral.”

“There's a lucrative hotel complex in the southern sector of Nos Astra. It mainly attracts the high-class crowd; its accomodations are anything but cheap. It's called the Phesora Tower. That's where he can be found.”

“We'll bring him in, sir.”

“See to it. Hackett out.”

With that, another status report ended, and Shepard resolved to make it the last one for this mission. Too much had been risked throughout this assignment, and the commander was sure she could take Teague down now. Her only real concern was that neither her best sharpshooter nor her best tech-expert were ready for deployment – but she'd just have to manage.

Commander Shepard headed to Deck 2, and asked Joker to set course for Illium. The pilot duly complied, and Shepard proceeded back to her cabin. On her way, however, she noticed someone emerging from the elevator out of the corner of her eye. Turning to acknowledge the individual, she noticed with great surprise that it was none other than Garrus Vakarian.

Doctor Chakwas was behind him, greatly distressed as Garrus stiffly walked over to Shepard. It was as if every step took tremendous effort for the wounded turian to perform, though this was hardly surprising considering the extensive nature of his injuries. To the commander's further surprise, Garrus was already fully armoured, as if attempting to ready himself for deployment.

“Listen to me, Garrus!” Chakwas asserted as she walked behind the veteran sharpshooter, “There is no way in _hell_ you can possibly deploy in your condition! You need rest! I'm surprised you can even walk!”

“She's right, Garrus,” Shepard interjected, looking at her turian squadmate with worried eyes, “After what you've been through...”

“After what I've been through,” Garrus growled with surprising ferocity, “This is nothing. I _need_ to do this, Shepard.”

Taken aback by Garrus' determination, Shepard remained steadfast, replying, “Sit this one out, Garrus. Focus on being able to fight another –”

To Shepard's further surprise, Garrus shouldered off the hand which reached out to console him. “I can't just sit back and watch while that smug bastard gets away again. _Let me do this, Shepard._ ”

Seeing that Garrus was not about to sway any time soon, and understanding fully why he wished to come with the squad in taking down Teague, Shepard looked over uneasily at Doctor Chakwas. The doctor had a pleading expression on her face, waiting to see what the commander's decision was. 

Turning her gaze back to Garrus, she could see the fury burning away in his deep eyes. There was no mistaking the resolve which consumed them, and Shepard was sure that taking him along would be the right decision to make.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh, “We're headed for Illium. We can't afford to waste time docking the Normandy at Nos Astra, so we'll be taking the Kodiak. Joker says we'll be there within the hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Garrus acknowledged with unwavering conviction.

“Commander!” Doctor Chakwas piped up, greatly opposed to Shepard's decision.

“What is it, Doctor?” Shepard replied.

“What... what do you mean, 'what is it?' Garrus hasn't recovered enough to return to duty! Not by any stretch of the imagination! If you send him out now, he'll be _killed!_ ”

“Right now, I need people I can trust to capture Teague, Doctor. Besides, I don't see Garrus backing down. Might as well indulge his request.”

Indignant, though seeing that she had no chance of changing Shepard's mind, Dr. Chakwas reluctantly saluted her and left the deck.

Turning back to face Garrus, Shepard asked him, “Are you sure you're ready for this, Garrus?”

“Absolutely. It's time for us to settle the score.”

A hint of a smile emerging across her face, the commander again placed a hand on Garrus' shoulder, and was not refused this time. “Couldn't agree more.”

“So, who are we shipping out with?”

Cracking her knuckles and gesturing towards the elevator, Shepard proposed, “I think it's time we give Lieutenant Vega another chance.”

 

* * *

 

As Jonathan Teague sat at a small table in his room on the top floor of Phesora Tower, he practically trembled with mortal trepidation. He had fully expected his entourage of commandoes to take care of Shepard – or at least make her call off the hunt. However, the exact opposite had happened, and Teague now found himself wondering if he had not underestimated his opponent. Shepard, it seemed, was unusually capable for a human, and the ambitious defector had not allowed for this in his plans. As it stood, he did not have the time to call in another squad, and it was unlikely that the Matriarch would give them to him anyway – she was already incensed with his conduct, as it had put him (and, more importantly, his operation) at risk. 

Jonathan Teague had spent nearly his whole life selflessly aiding the asari. Now, however, he found himself fearing for his own life for the first time.

It seemed as if he had nowhere left to run, save for this cozy (though increasingly-claustrophobic, he found) accommodation, again allotted to him by Matriarch Nephthia. He sat there still, his hypnotic hazel eyes boring relentlessly into the wood of the table upon which he was resting his arms. So intense was his gaze that one could be forgiven for expecting the table to spontaneously combust – and yet, Teague's face lacked all of its normal focus and composure. Gone were his smug smile and the clever shine in his eye. His hair was falling out of its ponytail in more than a few places, albeit only in loose strands. His lips were gnashing against eachother, locked in a muscular death-battle for supremacy. His hands were busy doing nothing, his forefingers tapping restlessly against eachother atop his folded hands. It was, overall, the perfect picture of human dread.

How did it get to be like this? Why had his plans all come to nothing? He had done everything right, and for the right reasons, at that! He was fighting for nature's perfect race – what greater motivator could there possibly be than that? So why, then, had he failed?

It was simple. He was human.

At the end of the day, Teague would always be what he always had been: a lowly, insignificant, useless _homo sapiens_. A reminder to the rest of the galaxy of everything that was wrong with it. A scourge barely even fit for life. A self-defeating, self-ruining disease made flesh, whose very destructive tendencies comprised its greatest contagion – and its sole, pathetic attempt at establishing a legacy amongst the stars.

These thoughts troubled Teague, but he was wholly convinced of their truth. They roused him from his trance, as they often did, and he rose to his feet. 

He walked over to the window of his room, just as he had but some time ago on Thessia, and stared out of it, marvelling at his superiors' civilization. For all his worry and fear, Teague still felt comforted by being merely in the presence of the perfection of the asari, and he felt the sight outside warm him. Even if Illium was considered a proverbial den of thieves, it was a bustling commerce centre, and a stronghold of asari economic power. So what if some of its exploits were decidedly objectionable in nature? Did it matter? The asari had the right to perform such deeds, if it meant ultimately that their destined hegemony would be fulfilled. It was a natural entitlement, and Teague had fought nearly his entire life for the realization of this greater good.

He turned, and looked around at the room which lay before him. Even if he was going to die this night, he was going to fight as hard as he possibly could. Everything rested on this last event – even his honour.

Jonathan Teague could think of no better place than Illium – a symbol of asari resolve and power – to make his last stand.

 

* * *

 

Seconds after the Kodiak had briskly let the squad off in front of Phesora Tower, Shepard had already set her sights on the building. Constructed, as could reasonably be expected, according to asari architectural tastes, the hotel was nondescript by the standards of Illium, yet impressive nonetheless in its size. Situated as it was on the outskirts of Nos Astra, there were no especially-noteworthy structures around the tower – which was perfect for the safe carrying-out of this mission.

“Remember,” Shepard began as the three walked to the formidable hotel, “This is a civilian area. We want to make as little noise as possible.”

“This place looks pretty posh,” Vega observed, impressed by its architectural opulence, “Not surprised this guy's camped out here.”

“Neither am I,” Garrus spoke. “But just because it's impressive, doesn't mean we can let our guard down.”

Their conversation ended as they entered the doors to the main reception area. Almost immediately, an asari receptionist took notice of their being armed to the teeth, and accordingly donned an alarmed expression.

Walking up to meet the receptionist, Shepard spoke, “I'm Commander Shepard. My squad and I are here on classified Alliance business. We're trying to find somebody, and we think you might be able to help us.”

“I'm very sorry,” the receptionist responded, “But I'm afraid you can't enter the premises without relinquishing your weaponry. Alliance or not, the safety of our tenants has to come first.”

“I don't think you understand,” Garrus interjected with urgency. “You have a very dangerous man up there, and we need to –”

“You all look rather dangerous yourselves,” remarked the receptionist with irritating persistence. “Now, this can go one of two ways: either you can leave your weapons here and explore the premises as you wish; or, you can make a big scene for no reason and be forced to leave the premises anyway. It's your choice.”

Shepard looked at Garrus and Vega with uncertainty – a quality which they relayed back to her in copious amounts – and turned back to face the receptionist.

“If we agree to that,” she began, “Can you tell us where a person by the name of Jonathan Teague can be found?”

“Normally, we are not permitted to divulge tenant information,” the receptionist elaborated, “But I suppose I can make an exception in this case.”

The squad relinquished their firearms at the appropriate counter, still looking deeply unsure regarding this likely-endangering requirement. Regardless, the receptionist complied with the agreement, sifting through registration records. “Here. Mr. Teague is currently residing on the 60th floor – the highest.”

“Which room?” Shepard replied.

“There's only one on that level. It's our most expensive room, and it dominates the entire floor.”

Only surprised for a split second that Jonathan Teague would choose such a relentlessly-opulent accommodation, the commander thanked the receptionist, and was pointed in the direction of the nearest elevator. The squad walked together into its chamber, and Garrus selected the sixtieth floor as their destination.

As the elevator made its slow, decisive way up the building, Shepard could feel... something. Was it excitement? Dread? Perhaps a bit of both, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline permeating her utterly. As uncertain as she had been regarding the last deployment (and rightly so, in retrospect), she now felt certain that she was going to find Teague here – and without lethal assistance, this time. They had him where they wanted him; now they simply needed to make sure they weren't going to screw it up.

Shepard thought about Garrus, and his uncertain condition. She worried about him, but remained unwaveringly sure of the rightness of her decision: Garrus was the best sharpshooter she knew, and was among the very most loyal crew members the Normandy had. He was doubtless the perfect choice for this mission – and all the more so due to his personal vendetta against Teague.

Shepard thought also about Vega, who had proven to be highly-loyal in his own right. The commander still regretted not taking Vega's concerns to heart, especially because of the nature of her job – to take all sides into consideration in deciding an overall course of action. She was still trying to think of the mishap as a learning experience, and it was largely due to her desire to correct her mistake that she was now so zealous in her pursuit of Teague.

Shepard sighed heavily as the elevator neared its destination, and, as it did so, she and her squad showed extra diligence in ensuring there were no threats nearby – none of them wanted to be ambushed by a half-dozen veritable killing machines again.

There was a single, intimidating hallway on the way to the central room, and it housed a few extra chambers – closets of varying sizes, a small spare room – but nothing that could precisely be called a second hotel room, _per se._ However, it _did_ house an unsuspecting asari vice-councillor, who was presumably just about to meet with Teague for whatever reason before Shepard and the squad had arrived. Whirling around instantly upon noticing the three soldiers, Leydra stopped, shocked by the unexpectedness of their appearance. Immediately afterward, she began briskly walking towards the room as quickly as her elegant dress would allow her to.

Unfortunately, this was not quite quickly enough, and Shepard took her by the shoulder, roughly shoving her against a nearby wall.

“Well, well... who do we have here?” Shepard asked the vice-councillor with anger.

“Fancy meeting _you_ here, vice-councillor,” Vega observed, arms crossed.

“What are you doing? He'll hear you!” Leydra replied, looking slightly panicked.

“What are you talking about?” Garrus asked, in full interrogation mode, “Isn't that what you want?”

“No, no, _no!_ You'll ruin _everything!_ ”

“Ruin what? The plans you made with Teague?” Shepard asked, still incensed over the setup on Sanctum. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“ _Because I want the same things you want, Shepard._ ”

This last sentence was spoken with direct eye contact, betraying a stark sense of frankness which no member of the squad had ever seen from the vice-councillor before.

“What?” Shepard inquired, confused.

With a laborious sigh, Leydra began, “I'm not _actually_ working with Teague.”

Seeing that the squad was speechless, the asari continued as Shepard's hand relaxed off her shoulder. “I'm a commando. There's a rogue matriarch by the name of Nephthia whom I've been trying to take down. She's got her claws in our military so tight that no one dares to challenge her influence – but her ideology has the very real potential to steer us down a very dangerous path. No one wants to admit it, but it looks more and more like there's a power struggle on the horizon – and some people are taking advantage of the instability caused by the Reaper situation to further consolidate their own power hold. Nephthia is one of them.

“Several years ago, I became annoyed with the military's dual incompetences – lack of centralization, and lack of coordination – and went rogue, myself. After a fair while working undercover in an important position on the Citadel, I managed to compel the councillor to work with me, and she somehow got me appointed as vice-councillor. 

“My cover started to work a tad too well, though; even the councillor herself started to wonder if I hadn't been bought out by Nephthia. I decided I had to kick things into overdrive, and that was when I heard news of a human informant working for the matriarch.”

“Wait,” Garrus interrupted. “You're saying Teague is working privately for a single matriarch? Not for the Republics themselves?”

“That's right,” Leydra spoke as she continued. “Anyway, that informant was, as you can guess, none other than Jonathan Teague. The man is all kinds of insane, but he's my closest ticket to Nephthia. If I can get on his good side, I have a much better chance of getting rid of the matriarch. But now that you're all here, I only see one way of dealing with the situation.”

“What's that?” Vega asked, still taking this revelatory onslaught in.

“Isn't it obvious?” Leydra spoke, “You're after Teague. I clearly am in no position to stop you. My cover's going to be blown if I help you, but at least it's something. The way I see it, there's no chance of me picking up the pieces even if I refuse to assist you.”

Shepard was still absorbing all that Leydra had just said, and was perhaps rightfully suspicious of it. Unsure of whether or not to trust Leydra, the commander first asked, “How do we know you're telling the truth? You helped set us up, didn't you?”

Garrus and Vega evidently concurred with the commander, for they immediately looked back at Leydra with looks of distrust.

“You're Commander Shepard, aren't you?” Leydra said with a shrug, “It was unlikely you weren't going to live through that. Same with your squad. I apologize for having to resort to that sort of thing, but I doubt any of you would have done differently in my situation.”

Completely unsatisfied with the commando's answer, but convinced nevertheless that she was at least being honest, Shepard scowled, “Alright. How do you plan to help?”

Leydra looked at the squad for a moment, and realized their firearms were nowhere to be found. “I might be able to bring some of your weapons up. I can't get them all, but I should be able to manage at least one or two.”

“We'll need some firepower, Shepard. I say we trust her,” Garrus advised.

“Alright. How soon can you get it done?” Shepard asked Leydra.

“It's hard to say, but no more than a few minutes, I'd assume.”

“The faster, the better,” Shepard demanded bluntly.

With that, the commander ordered for her squad to follow her. They made their way to the room in which Teague was residing, as Leydra left for the elevator.

Normally, there might have been banter between the squad as they made their way toward their objective – now, however, they needed to remain silent. Leydra had been right; they had already made a lot of noise, and they needed the element of surprise if this operation was going to go smoothly.

It only took a few more moments of caution to get to the door, and the commander observed a staircase on the right side of the corridor, presumably leading up to the roof of the tower. Shepard signalled for Vega to take point, and the lieutenant did as he was asked, quietly inching the hotel room door open. Almost immediately, a single small, spherical object rolled out the door to greet them.

The grenade had a prodigiously-short fuse, and it detonated as soon as it rolled into the midst of the squad. Garrus' and Shepard's reflexes proved fast enough to dodge the blast, but Vega, who had been sandwiched between them as a result of the cramped quarters of the hallway, was not so lucky. The sheer concussive power ripped through his shields, sending him flying backwards. Luckily, as Shepard found upon checking his pulse, he was still alive.

“He doesn't appear to be bleeding,” Shepard noted with caution, checking him over. “He might have a concussion though.”

“What do we do now?” Garrus asked.

Medi-gel didn't help much in a case like this, where consciousness had been lost. As well, it was more-than-obvious to Shepard that they couldn't get Vega out for extraction without compromising the mission – not an option, especially considering that they could now be sure that Teague was holing up here. This left Shepard and Garrus with but one remaining option.

“We have to apprehend Teague. We can't lose him now.”

“Understood.”

The commander felt remorseful over having to leave Vega there, but there was no other choice to make. They were on the verge of capturing their target, and the mission had to come first. As soon as she walked into the room, however, she was instantly intimidated by the sheer scale of the room.

The receptionist had proven right; the room easily took up the remainder of the entire floor, and appeared to be more of a miniature mansion than a conventional hotel room. Numerous sub-rooms and hallways weaved throughout the establishment, which was nonetheless very well-lit and luxuriant in its furnishings. A person could easily get lost – or, more to the point, vanish from sight – in such a formidable accommodation.

Realizing this, Shepard weighed her options carefully. Normally, it was suicide to split a squad up – the fewer people in one place, the easier it generally was to wipe them out – but, in this particular situation, the commander found herself questioning that logic. It was entirely possible that, in being as outmatched as he was, Teague would attempt to escape again. Such a case was out of the question, and therefore, the squad needed to cover twice as much ground twice as quickly as they would normally. On the other hand, though Garrus was certainly more than a capable fighter, he was also still on the mend; not only that, but Vega had already been taken out of commission, thereby eliminating any hope of backup. On still another hand, though, Vega's condition was likely to worsen considerably if this altercation took very long. It was this last development which compelled the commander, albeit with great hesitation, to split the squad up in pursuit of Teague. Too much was at stake to lose it all now.

“Alright,” Shepard began in a hushed voice, still surveying the area, “Let's split up. He has to be here somewhere.”

With that, Garrus headed off in the direction opposite Shepard. They both stayed on the upper level of the room, despite the considerable staircase which led down to the lounge area. Shepard could feel her heart pounding, and she remained diligently aware of her surroundings, careful not to miss anything conspicuous. 

Room after room proved to be entirely empty of anything other than excruciating suspense. He was hiding somewhere, just waiting to ambush them... but where? There were so many rooms, and so many of them were connected with eachother, that Shepard felt as though she was trying to corner water with a colander. Not only that, but Teague had likely already been staying here for awhile; he probably had already analyzed all possible escape routes, memorized the layout of each room, and figured out the easiest ways to move about them in preparation for this encounter. Teague may have been insane, but he was very far from stupid, and was obviously meticulous.

It felt like an eternity, but as Shepard continued combing the area (still finding nothing in the process), she realized that she still had not heard a single sound from Garrus. This either meant that he was having as little luck in finding their target as she was, or that something had happened to him. The latter thought sent shivers down her spine, but she resolved to persevere. If she didn't hear anything from Garrus within the next five minutes, she would order a rendezvous at the stairs.

After a few more moments, however, Shepard heard a sound which made her jump slightly. She could hear her turian squadmate yell in sudden pain from the other side of the level, and immediately barked into her earpiece, “Garrus! Garrus, what is it?”

No response.

The commander rushed to the source of the scream, dreading what she would find. Her fears were realized as entered the room from which she had heard Garrus cry out, shocked by the sight of Garrus on the floor. Shepard observed the sharpshooter as he sat, slumped groggily against the wall.

“Garrus! What happened?” Shepard asked.

Still holding his forehead with one talon, Garrus replied, “He snuck up behind me. Before I could react, my head had already hit the wall. I guess he didn't factor my armour into the equation until it was too late.”

Shepard was at a complete loss. She was now the only member of her squad who was reliably conscious, let alone able to fight. Seriously considering aborting the mission at this point, her line of thought was interrupted by Garrus' interjection.

“I'm alright, Shepard,” Garrus assured, no doubt noticing the concerned frown on the commander's face.

“Like hell you are,” Shepard replied. “We need to get out of here –”

“And do what? Just ignore the fact that we're _this_ close to getting our guy? That's not like you.”

With a sigh, Shepard got to her feet again, still looking deeply unsure. As much as the commander didn't want to admit it, Garrus was right. Teague was still here somewhere, and it was doubtful that, with him still prowling the area, it was even safe to attempt to leave. With a nod, Shepard turned and continued her search, well aware that things would have to be wrapped up quickly.

Deciding to investigate the lower level of the room, Shepard made her way down the central set of stairs. She observed a glass table standing in the midst of the lounge area, flanked by two red couches. Turning her gaze to the windows, she could see mid-day sunlight shimmering through them. This reassured Shepard, as it meant that only a relatively-short time had elapsed since their arrival at the tower.

At that moment however, Shepard heard a single footstep immediately behind her, snapping her attention back to the situation at hand. Immediately turning around with great speed, Shepard met the assailant with a swift backhand punch to the face – one which was blocked with impressive resilience and agility.

“Sneaking up behind me, eh?” Shepard spoke with derision. “Seems you're pretty desperate.”

Chuckling slightly, Teague replied, “Of course I am. _I'm a human._ ”

With a great push, Teague repelled Shepard's fist, and attempted to land a hit himself; this, too, was blocked.

“The thing is,” Shepard pointed out, “ _I'm_ not desperate. Does that make me superhuman?”

With his smile growing menacingly wider, and his eyebrows arching, Teague retorted, “Hardly.”

Teague withdrew his fist, attempting to grab Shepard's arm in a hold. This was intercepted by Shepard, who aimed a punch at Teague's face with such immediacy that the defector was compelled to duck under the blow entirely. Using this opportunity to create space between himself and Commander Shepard, Teague assumed a combative stance (as did his opponent).

“You know,” Teague began, not breaking eye contact, “It doesn't matter if you kill me. Nothing will change.”

“You got that right, Teague. You're worthless.”

“Indeed, I am. But you're every bit as expendable as I am, Shepard.”

With that, the commander blocked several more furious punches from Teague, each one hitting harder than the last. While Shepard was a gifted hand-to-hand fighter, her body armour was certainly helping absorb the blows. Sensing the need to turn the battle in her favour, Shepard riskily broke her stance, ducking under the hits and attempting to land a blow to Teague's stomach. This, too, was intercepted, but Teague had made a critical error in doing so: rather than blocking or sidestepping, he had stepped back to avoid Shepard's fist – thereby allowing the commander to gain ground.

Taking this chance by the scruff, Shepard attempted to rush Teague, and succeeded, landing a punch to Teague's stomach, and another immediately afterward to his face. Stumbling back from the considerable force of the blows, the misanthrope snarled, blood dripping slightly from his nose and lip. Teague resumed his stance only a moment after, signifying that he was unwilling to concede defeat.

“What's the matter?” Shepard asked, a smile of her own beginning to emerge, “I thought you were gonna put up a _fight_.”

Not breaking focus, Teague merely donned a stern expression as he launched another flurry of blows, each one again being successfully blocked. However, Teague quickly followed up with a vertical shove aimed at shattering Shepard's block. It succeeded, and Teague used this chance to land a devastating uppercut to Shepard's jaw with his other hand. The force of the hit sent Shepard reeling backwards, forcing her to land on one of the nearby couches. Disoriented, Shepard shook her head, trying to get to her feet. Unfortunately, she could not do so before Teague loomed over her, fists clenched.

“You know what, Teague?” Shepard said, her face contorted with anger, “With all your talk of asari supremacy, you remind me of someone.”

“Really?” Teague asked, his cold, hypnotic eyes taking on a terrifyingly dark quality, “Who's that?”

“Cerberus.”

Instantly, Teague's eyebrows shot up in outrage, and his bloodied lips twisted into a contemptuous grimace. Mercilessly hitting Shepard once more with even-greater force, Teague replied, “ _I am nothing like Cerberus._ ”

“You sure about that?” Shepard inquired defiantly, despite her black eye and bruised jaw. “'Cause I don't think that's the case. You're both murderous, bigoted scum. You're both doing more harm than help. And you're both –”

Teague was unable to hear the rest of what Shepard had intended to say, for his rage became incalculable at this point, and he lapsed from reality – just as he had done all those years ago on Elysium.

Shepard, meanwhile, was weathering an obscene number of shockingly-powerful punches. She needed to throw him off, or there was every chance that neither she nor her squad would survive. With all the fight left in her, she raised her hand to meet Teague's fist, successfully catching it. Not wasting time, she unapologetically twisted it sideways, possibly breaking the defector's wrist in the process. 

Teague screamed in pain, snapping back to reality and withdrawing his hand as he backstepped. Noticing that Shepard was getting to her feet already, Teague quickly took a spherical object from a small pouch on his waist, and held it in his hand.

“ _Not so fast,_ ” the now completely-disshevelled Teague warned. Shepard froze as she noticed the grenade, and Teague again smirked as he pulled the pin, tossing it directly at the commander. Shepard managed to roll out of the blast radius of the projectile, but, when she rose, she realized that Teague was nowhere to be found.

“Dammit!” Shepard exclaimed as she ran for the main door of the room. “Garrus!” She barked into her mouthpiece, “He's headed for the roof! Can you stand?”

“Consider it done,” the turian replied, though with noticeable exhaustion in his voice.

Running out towards the staircase, Shepard heard the door at the top slam shut, confirming her suspicions; it would have taken far too long for Teague to escape via the elevator. Just as she was about to clamber up the stairs, however, Shepard was taken aback by a hand on her shoulder.

Turning around and instinctively donning a fighting stance, Shepard was surprised to see a pistol aimed in her direction. She was even more surprised to see it was facing the wrong way.

“Here. This was all I could manage,” Leydra spoke.

Taking the sidearm, Shepard thanked the commando, and made haste towards the rooftop.

 

* * *

 

Teague had indeed made his way to the roof of Phesora Tower, and was already attempting to contact Matriarch Nephthia via his omni-tool. 

“Matriarch,” Teague spoke, “I need to speak with you!”

After he received no answer, Teague barked, “I require immediate evacuation!”

Still no answer. He was being utterly ignored, likely because of how the affair on Sanctum had gone. Teague had cost Nephthia no less than six very well-trained commandos, and asari were worth orders of magnitude more than humans to her.

After staring at his vacant omni-tool in disbelief for a few more moments, he lowered his arm in resignation. This really _was_ it. His final stand. There would be no saving himself this time. It was, he reasoned, a fitting end for a human to meet their demise by another human's will. Teague placed his uninjured hand on the holstered sidearm he had retrieved from his room shortly after tossing the second grenade – the exact pistol he had used to dispatch Arnold shortly after the incident on Tartarus-1.

“So be it,” Teague spoke to himself with a bitter smile.

 

* * *

 

As Shepard burst through the door with a loud slam, Teague immediately dove for cover behind a nearby ventilation unit, not even looking back to acknowledge his adversary. A flurry of bullets were discharged from the commander's newly-reprocured M-3 Predator as she advanced forward. She ducked for cover herself once Teague began returning fire, and several thermal clips were exchanged between the two with unyielding malice.

After a time, however, Teague realized the redundancy of this tactic. If he didn't move forward, he was going to run out of ammunition. And when he did, Shepard would be there to apprehend him, robbing him of his remaining dignity. Teague's fate was already sealed, and he knew this well. With that in mind, he waited for a lull in fire, reloaded, and commenced one final, likely-suicidal advance forward. 

To his surprise, Teague was able to catch the commander while she was lining up a shot, clipping her once in the shoulder, then several times more, depleting her shields and puncturing the soft section in between the plating of her armour.

Letting out a brief cry of pain, Shepard fell back behind cover, holding the wounded joint. Within seconds, Teague was again looming over her, raising his pistol without a word spoken. However, Shepard looked as if she had noticed something behind him, and he turned around, only to take a massive biotic wave head-on, sending him flying off his feet and onto the ground, several metres away.

Leydra had arrived at the rooftop herself to provide assistance, and was staring down at Teague as she closed in on him, profuse anger marking her face.

Still saying nothing, Teague did something that had been, until now, strictly forbidden by his ideology: he threw a punch at an asari. This was swiftly blocked by the skilled commando, and so were several more aimed at her. Leydra's mastery was so considerable that Teague's punches, which had taken Shepard by surprise due to their precision and power, seemed almost drunken by comparison with Leydra's profound agility and reflexes. However, as Shepard watched the fight from where she sat, she noticed one very strange thing: Leydra was not actually fighting back.

Eventually, after much fumbling, Teague managed to land a single hit to Leydra's stomach. The force of the blow managed to make her buckle, and Teague made immediate use of this opening. Savagely hitting her two more times in the same spot, he then took the collapsed asari by the arm, and dragged her to the edge of the rooftop.

“Normally, I would not even think of harming an asari such as yourself,” the exhausted Teague snarled, “But for this occasion, I'll make an exception. You prove yourself a traitor by intervening against someone who is working for the betterment of your people. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

Just as the two were about to reach the edge, Leydra observed between heaving breaths, “But how could I have killed that wonderful little boy I met on the Citadel?”

Teague froze solid, unable to even think clearly for a few moments as time itself seemed to stop. He slowly turned to face the commando, and looked carefully at her face. It was a deep purple, the same shade which had coloured...

“No... It can't be...!” Teague whispered breathlessly, scrambling to rationalize this development some other way. He was unable to, and his blood ran cold as he realized what he had done to the asari.

“ _V... Vedina?_ ”

The commando gave a weak smile to signify that Teague was correct. Even now, the smile was full of love and warmth, as if Vedina had somehow found it in herself to forgive the desperate misanthrope.

Sensing this fact, the defector began to do something he had not done for the last 17 years of his life.

Jonathan Teague began to cry.

A relentless stream of emotion cascaded from Teague as he sank to his knees and lamented, “Vedina! I'm so sorry! I never should have –”

“It's alright, Jonathan,” Vedina spoke in a soothing, almost motherly tone, “You've been through a lot. What matters is that you come to your senses now.”

The two rose, and embraced. After a few moments, Teague, still frowning in sorrow, began to turn towards the door again. Shepard, observing these events from such a distance as to not be able to hear what was being said, was profoundly puzzled by what was transpiring before her eyes. However, she was too wrapped up in the unfolding thereof to notice another individual limping through the door. Garrus, presumably having been given back his Black Widow rifle by Vedina shortly before she intercepted Teague, crouched down and took aim at him. In his exhaustion, he was unable to line up a steady headshot, so he settled for the body.

Just as Teague looked back one last time at Vedina with an uncertain smile, Garrus' shot rang out with a deafening crack, firing clean through Teague's side and tearing a gaping hole through it. With a shocked, agonized expression, Teague sputtered as blood welled up and fell from his mouth, collapsing to the ground on his unaffected side.

“ _Jonathan!_ ” Vedina cried, clambering over to him with a great amount of fear over his condition.

As the asari kneeled beside him, Teague weakly stated, “I'm sorry.”

Shepard, who still had no conception of the gravity of that which had just taken place, sprinted over to Teague, with Garrus following closely behind. When they had gotten there, Garrus merely glared unrepentantly down at the mortally-wounded Teague, who was bleeding profusely. Shepard observed Vedina's distress, and was unsure of what to make of it.

Regardless, the commander crouched down and said sternly, “Oh, no, you're not dying yet. You need to stay alive for at least a few more hours.”

Turning onto his back and coughing as more blood flowed out of his mouth, Teague replied, his signature grin returning, “Persistent as ever, I see.”

“Cortez!” Shepard urgently spoke into her earpiece.

“Yes, ma'am?” The shuttle pilot replied promptly.

“I need immediate evac, along with urgent medical assistance.”

“Understood. Should I bring the doc with me?”

After a moment of consideration, Shepard replied, “Yes.”

“On my way now.”

Vedina, still fixated on Teague, merely added, “You need to stay alive for a lot longer than that!”

Smiling as he turned his head to face Vedina, he then turned back, closing his eyes in a tranquil expression.

“Throughout my life, I have fought for my ideals. I have struggled for the betterment of the best and brightest the galaxy has to offer. I have no regrets, except for that which I have put Vedina through, which I regret greatly. Make no mistake; I knew this would be my final hour. Now that it has come, I suppose there are worse things that could have happened.”

The signature grin returned one final time, as Teague chuckled to himself. These chuckles soon gave way to frenzied coughing, which subsided after a time. Teague slowly breathed in and out, saying, “A beautiful galaxy we live in, is it not?”

With that, Jonathan Teague's heart stopped beating, and his life ended.

“Jonathan?” Vedina began with panic, “ _Jonathan? Jonathan!_ ”

No matter how many times Vedina jostled Teague, however, he did not awaken. Restraining her emotion as best she could, the commando quietly wept, tears running down her face. Shepard and Garrus looked on, and the former looked noticeably unsettled. The latter, however, appeared largely remorseless.

Within a few more minutes, the Kodiak arrived, with Dr. Chakwas onboard.

“Alright,” Chakwas asked with urgency, “Who needs patching up?”

Shepard merely looked at her uneasily for a few seconds, though Vedina wasn't even able to do that. The Kodiak had arrived.

But not soon enough.

 


	7. Epilogue

“Hello, commander,” Admiral Hackett greeted via hologram. “I just read your mission report. The results were...”

“I know, sir,” Commander Shepard replied with a sense of shame. “I wish we could have taken him alive, but he bled out before the Kodiak got there.”

“It was Garrus who fired the shot, I believe?”

“That's correct, sir.”

“I see,” Hackett contemplated. “Any idea why?”

“My guess is that he wanted revenge for the set-up. It's my fault, sir. I should have made my orders more specific.”

“What's done is done, commander,” Hackett asserted. “But the real problem here is that now we have no idea what information was leaked to the asari – or how much.”

“I know, sir,” Shepard affirmed, her shame growing.

Sensing the commander's dissatisfaction, Hackett said, “This was far from a failed mission. Teague's been taken care of. That's what really matters.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Unfortunately,” the admiral continued, “There's not enough evidence to prove Matriarch Nephthia's involvement in the affair. We just received word that she isn't going to be prosecuted.”

These words hit Shepard hard. Not only had she and her squad proved unsuccessful in capturing Teague for interrogation, but now, the true mastermind behind the plot was getting off scott-free, no charges laid. With all that Vedina had said about Nephthia, Shepard wondered whether the matriarch had forged some influence in the asari criminal justice system, too.

“I understand, sir.”

“Good work, overall, commander. Don't beat yourself up over it. Hackett out.”

With that, Shepard adjusted the sleeves of her uniform as Hackett's likeness faded from view. With a sigh of dissatisfaction, she turned and left the communications room. 

However, she was not quite finished wrapping this mission up. There was still one matter she needed to attend to, one which she had been compelled to think about intently during and after the last altercation.

 

* * *

 

The Citadel was vibrant and beautiful today, something that, while still common, often seemed diminished by the state of galactic affairs. However, the station seemed downright joyous at this particular time, and the tall, slender asari was enjoying herself profusely. 

Walking alongside another asari – about as tall as her, but with a deeper blue skin tone – she was headed to the various shops which adorned the western side of the Presidium Commons. However, a story being broadcast by Galaxy News piqued her interest, and she stopped in mid-walk to watch it.

“What's the holdup?” The other asari asked, a tone of playfulness in her voice.

“Uh, it's nothing,” The lighter-blue asari replied, tearing her attention from the monitor for a moment. “I'll catch up with you in a moment, okay?”

The other asari shrugged, saying, “Alright. But don't be long.”

“I won't,” The light-blue individual spoke with a smile.

Turning back to face the broadcast, she listened intently:

 

_In other news, former Alliance dignitary Jonathan Teague has died. Sources were unable to pinpoint the cause of death, although rumours state that Teague was wanted for supplying top-secret Systems Alliance information to the Asari Republics. Teague was infamous for an impassioned pro-asari tirade during a recent court trial, in which he was found guilty of 17 acts of treason with intent to sabotage Alliance credibility._

 

The asari felt a great pang of sorrow at this news. She hadn't heard that name in many years, but it still aroused specific emotions within her, as well as both positive and negative memories. Evidently, the other asari had noticed this as she returned.

“Sira? What's wrong?”

“Don't worry,” Sira responded, her sadness giving way to a loving smile, “Let's keep going!”

“Alright,” the other asari agreed as she reciprocated Sira's expression.

* * *

 

Shepard made her way to Deck 3 of the Normandy, a great swelling of emotion occurring within her. The butterflies in her stomach were reaching epic proportions, but she refused to let that slow her down. After the altercation with Teague, she knew she had to make things right with a very special someone. 

As Shepard opened the door to Liara's office, the asari Shadow Broker instantly noticed her presence, and walked up to her, frantically apologizing.

“Shepard! Are you alright? I'm so sorry! I never should have done the things I did, and I never should have even _agreed_ to help the vice-councillor _in the first place!_ I'm so glad you're alright! I'm so glad _Garrus and Tali_ are alright! Goddess, I was so worried –”

The commander slowly raised her forefinger, prompting Liara to cease her panic and stare quizzically at the lone digit. Shepard gently placed her finger on Liara's lips for a moment, before slowly withdrawing it again.

With a loving smile, she spoke, “Liara, it's alright.”

Shepard caught Liara in a passionate embrace, and the two hugged, the former rocking the latter slightly.

“It's alright.”

“But, Shepard, I –”

“You know what?” Shepard interjected, pulling slightly away from Liara in mock-anger, “You always think things are about _you_ , don't you? Talk about selfish.”

At first, Liara looked flabergasted, but, upon noticing Shepard's playful smile, she donned a grin of her own, and threw herself back upon Shepard, causing them to embrace even more closely than before.

After a time, however, Shepard spoke in a more-serious tone, “This mission really made me think about some things, Liara.”

“Oh?” Liara replied, still smiling.

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“Like how petty our argument really was. How much I need you.”

Again, Shepard pulled away from Liara slightly, and their embrace ceased. The two lovers continued holding hands, however, and as Liara looked deeply into Shepard's eyes, she saw profound emotion flow through them.

“And how much I _love_ you.”

Liara's smile grew even wider than before, and tears began to well in her eyes.

“Oh, Shepard!”

Liara leaned in to the commander, and they kissed deeply and affectionately. The warmth of their bodies against eachother was resplendent in its relief. They had gone through hell and back, and they had done it together.

As Shepard and Liara ended their kiss, they stared lovingly at eachother, relieved that their relationship was back on track. Many thoughts went through Shepard's mind at this time, but one of the most-pronounced things was the invincibility of their love. They had gotten through this together, even if there _had_ been a rough patch. They still loved eachother just as deeply as they had before, and perhaps even more so (if that was possible). If they had made it through something like this, Shepard reasoned, they could make it through anything.

Shepard thought about the Reapers, and the crisis they were wreaking across the galaxy. She thought of the impossible odds, and how bad things were getting. But then, she thought about the lovely, intelligent person she was gazing at right now, and how, in their own way, the duo had already overcome great odds.

No matter what the Reapers threw their way, no matter what loss they would bear witness to, and no matter what adversity they would have to face in ending this war, Shepard knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that they would face it all with no fear.

And they would face it together.

 

 

THE END

 


End file.
